You Oughta Know
by Needhughinmylife
Summary: House and Cameron struggle woth their feelings for one another. Especially since there is a new duckling vieing for her affections. Snark aplenty, more than a little angst, no unnecessary schmaltz. Please read and review, the first two chapters are a litt
1. New Kid On The Block

Disclaimer- I don't own House M.D. or any of it's characters etc. I have merely borrowed them and turned them into my imaginary friends for a short while.

Authors note- I love reviews, this is my first fanfic and would really appreciate feedback. Thanks. PS I'm British, so have used British spelling throughout :)

Monday morning-8.45am. House was waiting for the team to arrive, not that he had anything remotely resembling a case for them when they finally did decide to show. Especially now the tricky threesome was a fiesty foursome. Had been for the past three months or so. Cameron had been (naturally) very welcoming of the new recruit Foreman less so, whilst Chase had been positively hostile. Funny really, as he was the one that had the most in common with Dr. Clarkson. Or Tony as he liked to be addressed.

Clarkson was 32, a cardiologist, originally from England, but a resident of Jersey for approximately three years now. Single, dedicated, with a keen eye for detail and an even keener eye for the ladies. Wilson watch out. Opinionated, well-read and impossibly smooth.

House had been his usually grouchy self towards him, initially reluctant to take another player onto the team, not wanting to disturb the fragile equilibrium. But as Wilson so rightly pointed out, an extra pair of eyes and ears would mean more time freed up for House to indulge in the more important things in life. Things that beeped and were graded in levels,that were operated by thumbs and were easy to conceal in desk drawers when he heard the ominous sound of heels click-clacking down the corridor.

9am- Cameron was first to show, no surprise there. Closely  
followed by Clarkson (a little too closely House thought), then Foreman and last, but not least, Chase, looking like he'd had a lost weekend of some sort.

'Good morning, my bunch of happy campers. Did you all have a good weekend?'

Cameron& Foreman exchanged confused looks, not entirely sure of the appropriate response, given that House wasn't exactly known for a cheerful, sunny disposition- especially on Monday mornings. Chase meanwhile, was oblivious, checking his pockets for something vaguely resembling a painkiller. Damned hangover.

'Boys, girl and Chase, you will all be delighted to know we have absolutely no work to do whatsoever this morning. How about we all skip school and go hang with our pals?'

Cameron frowned. 'No cases at all?'

'Nope. Nothing. Zilch. Big fat zeros all round.' House limped over to the coffee machine and poured himself a large mug of steaming black liquid.

'Well, we have to find something to do, else it's going to be a very long day', she replied.

House turned slightly to look at her. ' Ok, how about you pretend to do some work, and as a special favour to you all, I'll pretend to pay you. Alternately, Foreman you can go play in the clinic for a couple of hours, Chase can go take a shower, Clarkson may as well continue perfecting his Cary Grant routine on some poor impressionable nurses until Wilson gets to hear of it, and Cameron. well, I guess you'll have to keep me amused for, ooh let's say, the next 20 years or so in my office.'

Foreman& Clarkson pushed back their chairs swiftly, keen to be anywhere other than here, where the atmosphere was decidely odd. Chase, still in his own parallel universe, looked mildly puzzled, before easing himself gently to his feet, hoping the rest of the body would follow accordingly. Cameron, meanwhile, remained seated.  
House took a swig of coffee. 'Well you lovely people, I've had a wonderful time- unfortunately this wasn't it. Now go forth and do your thing. What d'ya say we meet back here about 11.30ish, if Dr. Cameron hasn't completely exhausted me by then'

Cameron felt the colour rise in her cheeks slightly, as the others left the room. She began to gather her stuff together, shoving it deliberately into her bag. Aware, as she did, that his eyes were boring into her, thus making her cheeks redden even more. She picked up her bag, and exited the room as quickly as she could, before any more emotions which she had finally got around to burying, decided to rear their ugly heads and resurface.


	2. Mirror In The Bathroom

Disclaimer- Still not mine, still need the imaginary friends until I get some real ones 

As she adjusted her hair in the bathroom mirror, Cameron silently chastised herself for letting any feelings she once had for House come back to the forefront of her mind. After that disastrous date, six months ago now, where he had read her so well, capturing the essence of her perfectly, much to her outrage& dismay, she had vowed to let it- and him- go.

It hadn't been easy at first, but gradually she had managed to draw a line under those emotions, put them firmly to the back of her mind by immersing herself heavily in her work, secretly hoping that with each day, it would get a little easier to bear.

And it did. Not much, admittedly- she didn't think she would be over him for a very long time, if in fact, ever. But it had certainly become more manageable. It had returned at least on her part to how it was before their non-date to the Monster Truck rally. He sniped at her, she occasionally sniped back and he still resorted to sexual innuendo at least a dozen times a day. But that was House. Hell, he even spoke to Cuddy that way, the woman who wrote his pay cheques, so she had no chance of preventing him doing it to her.

But just recently he had been acting differently towards her, and she couldn't figure out why. And God knows, she'd analysed it over and over. Analysed it to death. She analysed everything to death, it was her way. Thoughtful and analytical, she called it. Uptight and repressed, according to him.

But he knew why. And he had no intention of sharing that little nugget of information with her. Or anyone for that matter. Because it was a weakness on his part. And he didn't do weakness. Oh no. It was bad enough that something, someone, had managed to penetrate his shell, without letting that someone know that they had done so. And that someone or something (animal, vegetable or mineral, House couldn't decide)was on the payroll. Bloody Englishmen. Coming over here, strutting around acting all suave and sophisticated. With their funny little ways. He blamed Hugh Grant. He'd started all this silly nonsense. Clipped accents, floppy schoolboy haircuts and boyish cheeky grins. Didn't they have women in their own country they could be all charismatic& pretentious with?

House didn't have the answer to that, or in fact to what Clarkson's intentions were towards Cameron, but he knew one thing. He intended to find out, test the water a little. But how and when, well that was another matter entirely.


	3. Office Politics

Disclaimer- They don't belong to me, I belong to them.

11.30am- Outer office.

Foreman and Cameron sat next to each other, discussing the latest episode of a new medical drama that had aired on Fox the previous evening. Foreman thought it was ok, but that it had definitely been written by a white, middle class guy-Cameron had decided that she would never miss another episode since she only had eyes for the dreamy English actor playing the head doctor. Clarkson was fiddling with his personal organiser, thoughtfully running his finger down the list of phone numbers and wondering why it was that he didn't yet have Allison Cameron's on the list. He made a mental note that that was something he would have to address before the day was out. And as for Chase- well the very fact that he was physically present, if not mentally, was in itself, nothing short of a miracle.  
House entered the room, casting an exacting eye over his band of merry men, Maid Marian and Chase.

'So, we meet again, still no cases, diddly squat. Anyone wanna play Jenga? Tiddlywinks? Or better still, Twister? That should kill a few hours, till we can all shimmy out of here.'

Foreman, in his usual manner, rolled his eyes, Cameron brushed at an imaginary fleck of dust on her lab coat, whilst Chase just cradled his head in his hands, emitting a low, moaning noise as he did so.

'Dr. Chase, am I keeping you up? You must have had one hell of a weekend, it's not like you to be so pale and uninteresting. Oh no, wait a minute, my mistake, yes it is.'

Chase raised his head very slowly, still clasping it as though frightened it may spontaneously roll off his neck. 'I'm certainly paying for it today, but from what I can recall, yeah, I had an awesome weekend.'

House cast an eye over Chase's appearance. His hair was even floppier than usual, his shirt unironed and barely tucked into his trousers& the tie was so hideously inappropriate for the rest of his outfit, House wondered if in fact he had simply been at Wilson's the entire weekend, playing dress-up in the closet.

'Well, I have to say Dr Chase, whatever look you were going for today, you missed- spectacularly. At least compared to poster boy Clarkson over here. How on earth are you ever going to win the affections of Maid Cameron if you come to work looking like Soupy Sales?'

Clarkson glanced at Chase, wry smile on face, as Foreman perfected his trademark eye-rolling manoeuvre. Cameron, who began to wish she had used rouge this morning to cover another one of her impertinent blushes, increased the rapidity of brushing off imaginary dust flecks, to the point where House wondered if she should be checked out for OCD.

'Well, in the absence of anything productive to partake in, I suggest we break for an early lunch, I know I've certainly worked up an appetite this morning. See you all back here about one o'clock, (he spots Cuddy in the doorway) unless that cheeky little minx Cuddy finds me first, and forces me into playing strip poker in her office. I tell you, the woman's insatiable ever since she went on hormone replacement following her gender reassignment.'

'Dr. House, may we step, or in your case, hobble, into your office for a moment?'

House sighed wearily. 'See what I mean? She's uncontrollable, no shame. Can't even wait until you guys leave the room, such an exhibitionist, what with all these glass walls. And so great that a woman of her advancing years doesn't mind letting it all hang out for others to see.'

Mildly embarrassed and yet amused at the same time, the troops left the office, as House reclined in his chair, cane laid across his lap, arms folded behind his head.

'Be gentle with me Dr. Cuddy, I only have 4 Vicodin left in my tub till I get a refill.'

'I see as usual you're rushed off your foot, Dr. House'

'Ah, Dr. Cuddy, or can I just call you Madam Funbags, now that we're alone together, I know at first to the untrained eye, it may appear that I am doing nothing, but in fact at the cellular level, I'm really very busy.'

Cuddy, having spent far too long observing Foreman's party piece, rolled her eyes. 'Well, tough as it will be to find a window in your over-stretched diary, I need you to make time today to do Dr. Clarkson's performance review. His three month probationary period is up, we need to see how he's doing, if he's settling in here ok.'  
House grimaced. 'I'm busy right now, can I ignore you some other time?'

'House, this is not optional. I want it on my desk no later than 8.30 tomorrow morning, or Wilson can't come out to play after school.'

'On your desk? With my duff leg? Honestly, no consideration for my comfort.'

'The report House, not you.' And on that note, she click-clacked out of his office and off down the hall.


	4. Doing It

Disclaimer- Not mine but if they were I'd be ever so grateful (Messrs. Shore and Singer, can you hear me?)

Cafeteria –1pm

Wilson walked over to where House was sat, in the seat closest to the window, which also happened to be the seat farthest from any other diners. On the table was a half-eaten bacon sandwich, a full cup of black coffee and a pile of wildly scattered papers, which House appeared to be trying to psych out in a staring competition. So much so, that he didn't even raise his head to acknowledge Wilson, as he pulled up a seat alongside him.

'Working on your lunch break? This is a whole new you.' Wilson placed his tuna salad roll& cup of tea down a little too close to House, so that he could lean over to inspect the papers more closely.

'Well, you know how it is. You give a woman a bit of the old House-lovin', then before the desk's even cold, all that administrative neediness gets the better of her& she lands this on you. I must admit, when she mentioned the words 'performance review' straight after the dirty deed was done, I wondered why she had to analyse it, instead of just having a cigarette like any normal person would. Personally, I gave what I considered to be a great performance.'

Wilson raised his eyebrow. 'Or...'

'Or, Dr. Cockroach's three months are up, and I have to make him jump through a few hoops this afternoon.'

'Ah, yes. Dr. Clarkson. Remind me again what you have against this young, dynamic, virile, ladykiller, with great credentials from his previous posting. He's the real deal, isn't he?'

'Doesn't mean I have to like him.'

'You don't like him?'

'I don't dislike him. He's a very capable doctor.'

Wilson, catching on to the slightest hint of an underlying issue, decided to take it further. 'But...?'

'There's no but.'

'There is a but.'

'There's no but.'

'There SO IS a but.'

Wilson took a sip of his tea and stared a little harder at his friend, who was staring even harder still at his paperwork. Wilson continued, 'I mean, I would have said it's because he just oozes charm and sophistication from every pore, and has nubile young nurses foaming at the mouth when he walks past, but that hasn't stopped you liking me, now has it?'

'You have a pretender to your crown, Jimmy-boy.'

'O-kayyyy, maybe so. But if that doesn't bother me, why should it bother you?' He paused, and suddenly the penny dropped. Wilson banged his hands on the table excitedly. 'That's it, that's it, it's the green-eyed monster. He's been oozing and schmoozing just a little too close to home.'

House, for the first time since Wilson had joined him, cast him a brief glance. Before averting his eyes, lest they betray him by revealing the emotions they concealed.

'He's made a move on Cameron hasn't he? Ooh, that's it. I KNEW there was something, I just knew!'

House winced. It annoyed him that Wilson always managed to see through his carefully placed mask. It annoyed him even more that Wilson was getting so over-excited at pulling off his best Sherlock Holmes routine, that he was now bouncing up and down in his chair, his complexion having taken on a peculiar reddish tone, and House's coffee cup was doing a bizarre Conga like dance across the table. Unnerved by the not inconsiderable possibility that Wilson may suddenly start convulsing if he didn't calm down, he hit back.

'I remember why I like you now, you remind me of when I was young and stupid.'

'Yeah, yeah, yeah, like you were ever young once. You can't fool me. You know, you brought this on yourself House. You had your chance six months ago, and you blew it. I told you you'd end up alone.'

Wilson, not knowing when to take his leave, continued with his quick fire questioning.

'So, what'd he say to her? Are they dating? How long have they been dating? Do they know that you know they're dating? Are they doing it? They are, they're doing it. They're actually doing it!'

House, fearing that if Wilson continued in this vein, at best he ran the risk of knocking a cup of hot coffee into House's lap and at worst would require the assistance of a ventilator to regulate his breathing, momentarily regained control of the conversation.

'Doing it? What are you, twelve? I have absolutely no idea if they are dating and even less of an idea if they are partaking in acts of a strictly adult nature. But more importantly, I don't care about either of the afore-mentioned points.'

'You do! You SO do! Are you going to ask him in his performance review? Oh, let me sit in on this one. C'mon, you owe me. Maybe we could get him to discuss Cameron's performance whilst we have him cornered. I wonder if English guys do it differently.'

'Right, that's it. Fun's over. You know me, company guy and all. My lunch break, and this conversation are over. I was going to suggest meeting for a drink after work tonight, but given the fact you have just exhibited a number of signs which suggest to me you are not yet of an age to be allowed entry into a bar, I guess I'll just have to meet you in the schoolyard tomorrow.' House rose from his seat, whilst gathering his papers together. 'Chaos, panic and disorder, my work here is done.'

'Twenty bucks you think about this conversation whilst you're doing his review. And another twenty bucks you think about the possibility of them doing it before you even make it to the elevator. '

House adjusted his weight onto his cane, as he gave Wilson his best attempt at a withering look. 'If you're not of an age mentally where you'd be allowed to indulge in alcoholic beverages, you're certainly not eligible to gamble either. Doing it? Honestly!'

Wilson remained seated, grinning from ear to ear. He'd hit the nail on the head this time. He wasn't sure if Clarkson and Cameron were doing anything, but he could tell from House's reaction that he felt threatened in some way by Clarkson and his behaviour towards Cameron. Oh, he was going to have so much fun digging deeper on this one.

As House made his way across the dining hall, he cursed himself under his breath.

'Damn Wilson! How does he manage it? Reading me so well? How'd he know what I was thinking before I even thought it myself?' He made his way towards the elevator, pushing the button impatiently with the tip of his cane. And as he did so, he cursed himself again.

'Could they be doing it?'


	5. Performance Review

Disclaimer- I do not own them, but I do own the DVD, so I'm happy

House's office 2.25pm

House half-sat, half-lay in his chair, idly tossing his over-sized tennis ball against the wall. Five minutes until showtime. And counting. And all he could hear were the words, 'don't wanna do it, don't wanna be here', rattling around in his mind. Maybe he could strike a plea-bargain with Cuddy. Blind-side her by offering to do a few extra hours of clinic duty. Go crazy and actually attend the clinic in his lab coat. Or, really go out on a limb and surrender his Vicodin to her for the rest of the day.

House shook his head violently, as if to try and rid his brain of the little green men that had invaded it and were making him delusional. His mind snapped briefly back to reality. Performance reviews. Could do them with his eyes shut. So what was the problem with doing this one?

Clarkson was a good doctor, professional, ambitious and the owner of a razor sharp mind. In fact, he reminded House in many ways of himself, minus the bum leg, three days growth on his chin and penchant for daytime soaps. Maybe that was why the new kid on the block had turned Dr. Cameron's head. Because he was a younger, able-bodied version of House. Without the warped personality. But maybe her head hadn't been turned at all. There was no doubt in his mind that Clarkson definitely perked up when he was near to Cameron, hell, he was only human (allegedly) after all. But looking at it objectively, he didn't recall ever seeing Cameron reciprocate. Anyway, Clarkson looked at all women in that way. So what was he fretting for? Not like Cameron was his girl or even that he wanted her to be, right?

'Dr. House, ok to come in?'

House looked up briefly, his train of thought interrupted, to see Clarkson standing in the doorway. He dipped his head slightly as if to acknowledge the question, and proceeded to throw two Vicodin down his neck. He leant forward across the desk, extending his hand to offer Clarkson his Vicodin.

'A little something to put you in the party mood, doctor?'

Clarkson shook his head and smiled graciously.

The next forty-five minutes passed uneventfully. House went through the motions, conducting Clarkson's review as he had undertaken so many others previously. He discussed performance to date, set objectives for the year ahead and listened to his junior's thoughts on where he saw himself in the future. The atmosphere was relaxed, no blood was shed and House's little helpers remained safely stashed in their bottle. Wilson's words did ring in his ears about two-thirds of the way through the review, but House dismissed the thought of Cameron and Clarkson 'doing it' as quickly as he usually dismissed one of Chase's diagnoses.

At 3.15pm, Clarkson left House's office, and House felt a sense of relief sweep over him. Now he could get back to concentrating on the important things in life, like lollipops and dreaming up new ways to torment Cuddy. How very differently the review could have gone.

How would it have gone had House known that whilst he and Wilson had been verbally sparring over a half-eaten bacon sandwich, just a few hours earlier, that Cameron too, had been having a very eventful lunch break.

That Clarkson had pulled up a chair alongside her, chatted casually about nothing in particular for a while, and then completely out of left-field, had asked her out on a date. A proper date. Even more out of left-field was Cameron's reply, and the eagerness in her voice as she accepted. A 'pick you up at 7.30, movie and then grab a bite to eat' type date. This evening.

Would her response have been different had she only known that the entire exchange was overheard by Foreman and Chase. That Foreman's eyeball rolling almost put his sockets into meltdown as a result. Or that Chase, mouth frozen wide open in disbelief and cheeks an envious shade of green, almost acquired a personality on hearing the developments.

Or that fifteen minutes later, the prospective date was the talk of the nurse's station. And that ten minutes after the news broke there, it was brought to Wilson's attention. The very same Wilson who was now sitting outside House's office, rubbing his hands with glee, waiting for House to conclude Clarkson's review.


	6. Splinters

Disclaimer- Don't own them, and they don't own me, so we're even.

Harry's Bar 8.45pm

Wilson repositioned himself on the bar stool. His behind was so numb, he wasn't even sure it was still attached to the rest of his body. For the last two hours, he'd been sat alongside a morose looking House. A House who for every additional shot of whisky he imbibed, seemed to grow more and more melancholy and despondent. Even his snark had shut up shop and gone home about an hour ago.

As Wilson awaited his return from the bathroom, he contemplated where this sorry excuse of an evening was headed next. As he saw it, House could continue boosting the sales of one Mr. J. Daniels, double after double, until such time as he passed out in a whimper of self-pity, or he could at least try and salvage the situation, ply him with black coffee until he became at least partially coherent and drive him home  
'Jeez, if I'd known he was gonna be this bad, I would never have told him about the damn date', he mumbled under his breath.

Reflecting on their earlier conversation, Wilson thought House had taken the newsflash of the date exceedingly well. Just popped two pills, twirled his cane and muttered something about her clearly opting for Mr. Right Now as opposed to Mr. Right. Could've gone worse. Much worse. The rest of the afternoon had run pretty much to form. House remained ensconced in his office, watching soaps, tub of sweeties in hand. Cameron flitted about in an especially twirly-girly manner, and Foreman and Chase sniggered and whispered conspiratorially in the locker room, like Beavis and Butthead in lab coats.

But by the time Wilson had made it to the bar, half an hour later than arranged, House was already somewhat the worse for wear and showing no signs of wanting to be any other way. The conversation was virtually non-existent and on House's part, always monosyllabic. Wilson half-wished he could join him in his self-destructive stupor, but given the fact he had driven to the bar in Julie's new car, he thought better of it.

He tried numerous attempts at lightening the mood, none of which worked, followed by an attempt to lure him into snark (House wasn't having any of it), finally launching his last ditch effort, discussing the merits of Dr. Cameron. Initially, House came out of his catatonic state, if only to stare glassy-eyed at Wilson as opposed to the beermat, but before long he returned to throwing his drink down his throat in between growling at the bartender for a refill. And then finally, he crawled back into his shell altogether.

Which is where he'd remained until his bladder finally got the better of him. As he'd gloomily limped off to the bathroom, Wilson wondered if in fact he wouldn't have been better off going for a 'fun packed' evening of charades with Julie and the in-laws. If only he could get House to admit to having more than a passing interest in Cameron, or Carmen as House had insisted on drunkenly pronouncing it all evening, then he would have something to go on, something tangible to hone his matchmaking skills on. And he knew his friend well enough to know that the reaction towards her was more than just testosterone based. As he caught sight of his friend staggering forlornly across the room returning from the little boys room, Wilson's brain began to tick.


	7. Breakfast At Tiffanys

Disclaimer- You still reading? Then you must surely know they're not mine in any shape or form

Cameron's apartment 11.55pm

Cameron lazily twiddled the hot tap with her big toe as she relaxed in her tub, allowing the fresh blast of boiling water to bring the mass of vanilla scented bubbles right up to her chin. And as she did so, she found herself reflecting on the evening's events.

Clarkson had picked her up in his midnight blue AC Cobra a little before 7.30. He'd remarked on how lovely she looked in her floral summer dress and strappy wedges ('like a princess'). He'd commented also on how flattering her hair appeared, swept up as it was in a French pleat ('like a French princess'). And, disconcertingly, she thought, he'd dropped in an aside about her earrings (the ones her mother had given her), setting off the look perfectly. She'd admired his dashing style, dressed as he was in a beautifully cut navy suit (William Hunt, she thought), crisp white shirt and complimentary silk tie ('like her Prince').

They'd headed firstly to the cinema. Cameron smiled as she recalled how it had seemed all her Christmases had come at once, upon realising he had taken her to se a re-run of 'Breakfast at Tiffanys' showing at the Plaza. How sweet that he'd remembered what was merely a passing comment of hers earlier in the week, that Audrey Hepburn was just the most wonderful actress. So elegant. They'd shared a jumbo tub of popcorn (sweet, not salted), a Mega Coke and more than a few fleeting sideways glances, when each thought the other wasn't looking.

Al Duomo's beckoned straight after. Quiet table for two, in the corner farthest from the door. For her carbonara fettucine, for him penne a la Napoli. And between them they made light work of two bottles of the House white. (Well, she did to be more precise). He'd flirted shamelessly, she'd responded in kind. Suggestive running of the finger around the stem of the wine glass on his part, girlish twirling of strands of hair around the little finger on hers. He'd been both witty and entertaining, a thoughtful listener as she told him of her years at med school, her favourite cat, Snowy, that her parents now cared for, and of her younger sister Laurie, who was doing well for herself as an investment banker in Chicago. She in turn, had stared dewy eyed as he'd recalled his childhood in Oxford, his university days at Cambridge and of his great love for rowing.

Last to leave the cosy restaurant, as they'd stepped into the cool night air, he'd continued to be her knight in shining armour, holding open the car door for her, making sure she was settled in her seat before starting the engine. And all the way back to her apartment, he'd regaled her with quaint little English anecdotes. She'd invited him in for coffee, he'd graciously declined. And with a tender goodnight peck on the cheek, her coach had turned back into a pumpkin, as he wished a good night's sleep and left her standing in the doorway.

Everything she ever thought she'd want in a prospective beau. She could envisage herself enjoying many more evenings like this in the near future. Charming, funny, gentleman like and so very comfortable to be around, the future looked very bright indeed. Why then had something been rattling around at the back of her noggin all night? Why, when she looked into his dark, velvety eyes, did she keep catching glints of bright azure blue? Or feel herself resisting the urge to respond to some of his comments with a little snippet of sarcasm, when he had not sent any stinging remarks her way?

She knew why, that was the problem. She knew a seed had been firmly sown when she had joined the team at PPTH, when she realised she had fallen under the spell of one very charismatic, yet ultimately flawed older nephrologist. She knew the problem, the question now was what, in fact if anything, she was going to do about it.


	8. Push The Button

Disclaimer – They're mine, finally (Oh no, wait a minute, everybody lies, right?)

House's office Tuesday 8.42am

With one hand supporting his ever so delicate head, the other clasping an open tub of Vicodin, House began to wonder if this damned hangover would ever decide to call it quits. Four Vicodin, one prairie oyster and countless mugs of strong, black coffee had failed to alleviate his discomfort. In fact the prairie oyster had almost made things worse, the rich, viscous concoction unsure whether to observe the rules of peristalsis, or come straight back out of his mouth in a projectile fashion. For the first time in as long as he could remember, his primary objective upon opening his eyes that morning had been to call in sick. Something that under normal circumstances, he would never dream of doing.

God knows he physically wasn't up to working today. His grey matter was firmly fixed in neutral, and most likely would find itself stuck in reverse as the day progressed. The womb-like properties of his darkened bedroom and down-filled quilt, and the cool ceramic tiles on his bathroom wall that he had pressed his face against at 3am, seemed far more inviting than eight hours of verbal dodge ball and the inevitable 'I told you so' from Wilson.

But curiosity was getting the better of him. Had got the better of him. He didn't want to hear the sordid details of Cameron's hot date from a smug Wilson, a Wilson who would be all too ready to remind him that he had failed to get his act together and make a move on her before someone else got in there. He wanted to ensure that he was there to conduct a post-mortem on the previous evenings events, to cast a critical eye over every subtle nuance in their body language, to observe their awkwardness (or familiarity) towards each other. Most importantly of all, he had to go in, having wasted precious nod-nod time thinking about her, questioning his judgement, wishing he could overcome his hang-ups and channel his feelings for her in a better way, before reprimanding himself for allowing his emotions to interfere with his logical thought processes.

By seeing her face, it would perhaps clarify a few things, make him remove the splinters from his behind and climb down from his fence. Or, bring him sharply to his senses and reaffirm his belief that his long-established guard should remain firmly in place, that surrendering to his feelings for her would ultimately be the ruination of him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that his happy band of travelling minstrels were assembling in the outer office. Foreman was rummaging in his bag, looking for something or other, whilst Chase, clearly recovered from the effects of his lost weekend, was firing on all cylinders, busy discovering the joys of flicking himself in the head with a rubber band. Nice. His gaze turned to the happy couple. Not sitting next to each other, a good sign he thought. No visible hickeys, no hand-holding, no sign of friendship rings. Even better.

Maybe they were playing it down, deliberately distancing themselves, keeping their cool. No, Cameron wouldn't be able to carry that act off for long. If anything significant had taken place, she would have that faraway look in her eye, mentally picking out meringue-like dresses and clutching a volume of Keats to her bosom. Which she wasn't. She was clenched, he thought. Perhaps a little more clenched than normal. Hard to tell, what with his double vision and thumping headache. Time for a closer inspection, time to go dig for dirt.

'Good morning. And how are we all today?'

'Doing better than you by the looks of it,' Foreman ventured.

'Well, you know me. Being gorgeous is so last season. Thought I'd go for the rough and ready look, offer the ladies a viable alternative to Mr. Darcy here,' House replied, dipping his head slightly in Clarkson's direction. 'Remember, age and experience will always triumph over youth and naivety. Besides which, when Angelina Jolie comes knocking at your door in the middle of the night, inviting you to be her Tomb Raider, you don't pay too much attention to personal grooming the next day.'

He felt Cameron's eyes fixed firmly upon him as he spoke, and as he noticed it, he also sensed her avert them, concentrating them instead on her lab coat, the site of so many imaginary flecks of dust. He was equally aware of Clarkson's eyes being centred on Cameron. Of his relaxed and open body language, of the barely repressed desire for her emanating from him. And the clear impression he had of her becoming even more clenched, as she picked up on the vibes the young doctor was giving off.

'Dr. Clarkson, tell me, how do you funny little Brits go about showing a lady a good time?'

Clarkson looked at House. 'Surely you don't need any tips from me, Dr. House. Assumed you would have written the book on such matters.'

'Very true, Tony. I'm not asking for my benefit, but for the benefit of young Robert here, who has clearly been out of the loop for a while. I mean, he's going wrong somewhere in his technique, 'cause even our resident Pollyanna, Dr. Cameron, took a raincheck on him.'

Cameron felt the colour rise in her cheeks as Clarkson's gaze fell upon her again. Chase momentarily stopped flicking himself with the band, puffed out his chest slightly, as if about to assert himself and defend his masculinity with a smart remark, then thought better of it, realising he would get his butt whooped, and reverted to what he did best, by flicking the rubber band at Foreman instead.

'Well, Dr. House, I like to think us Brits know how to make a woman really feel like she's a woman. You know, treat them with respect, pay them attention, hold them in high regard. Don't rush them, woo them gradually. Make them feel like a princess.'

The last remark made Cameron's ears perk up. A princess. Yes, he had made her feel that way last night. Made her feel special, important, appreciated. And hadn't rushed her. Hadn't tried to get in her pants when she had over-indulged in the House white. Perfectly charming but...

'Dr. Chase, you getting this? You know, you really should take a leaf out of Tony's book with regard to the pursuit of women. I mean, I know women like the strong, silent type, it makes them think you're actually listening to them, but you've taken the whole 'lights on, no-one's home' approach to another level entirely. Almost made it an art form,' House teased.

House could feel his alcohol induced grey cloud of misery lift slightly, as he began to embrace the delights of making his younger colleague wince.

'Dr. Cameron,' he began, his back turned to the group now, as he wiped the whiteboard clean, 'what's your take on the whole Anglo-American approach to lurrrve? British guys push the right buttons for you? Fancy being wooed?'

He turned to gauge her response, to see if he had managed to push any buttons by asking the questions, so soon after her date with Clarkson. As he did so, he noticed her chair was empty, and he thought he caught the briefest glimpse of her ponytail swishing out of sight, as she hurried away down the corridor.


	9. Bachelor Number 2

Outer office 9.24am

House wondered why she had suddenly bolted like that. He didn't think he'd crossed the line, after all she was used to his barbed comments by now, surely? All things considered, he'd been quite tame this morning, what with the hangover and all. He looked at his team, to find them all staring at him. Chase's mouth had dropped open, a big blob of ink on his lower lip from where he had bitten so hard on his biro, shocked by Cameron's unexpected departure, whilst Foreman, eyeballs in 5th, looked like he wanted to offer House outside. Clarkson, meanwhile, had risen from his seat and was heading for the door.

'I'd better go and check on Allison, make sure she's ok.'

'Whoa there, Dr. Kildare. I'm sure she can manage quite nicely in taking herself to the bathroom. As I'm sure you are already aware, she's a big girl now.'

'But she seemed...'

'She seemed what? Emotional and highly-strung? Like a deer caught in the headlights? Yep, that's Cameron for you. Probably just realised that Old Yeller never made it after all. Either that, or she found out that Santy-Claus ain't coming down her chimney this year, 'cause she's been such a naughty girl.'

Clarkson hesitated, unsure whether to go after her, or stay behind. His English reserve, and deference to his boss meant he returned to his seat, repositioning it slightly so that he could keep one eye on the door.

'Ok people, 53 year old male, breathing difficulties...' House paused as he saw Wilson appear in the doorway.

'House, a word.' Wilson's eyebrow was raised. Oh goody, sermon time.

'Absolutely correct Dr. Wilson, it is indeed a word, although I have to say, I prefer the word 'decadence'. Great word. Personally, it's right up there in my top ten, alongside nubile, perky and debauchery.'

Wilson, ignoring House's flippant remark, made his way into House's office.

'Oh, I get it,' House said to the team, 'it's story time. At ease people, heads down, time for a nap. I may be gone for quite a while, judging by the peculiarly high arc of Dr. Wilson's left eyebrow.'

House gathered his cane and made his way across the room to join Wilson.

'Jimmy Boy, want to arrange another drinking session so soon? I know, I'm irresistible to be around when I'm pumped full of bourbon, but I gotta say, I can't return the compliment. You really need to let your hair down, lay off the soda, and go pro. Have a Bud Light, hell, have two. Live on the edge, feel the fear.'

'Or...I was on my way to see you to make sure you had recovered from last night, given the fact that when I dropped you home you were calling me Jessie and wanted to take me away from it all, make an honest woman of me. And now, this morning I almost get swept off my feet in a different way, by Dr. Cameron who's going hell for leather down the hallway. What did you say to her?'

House sat down in his chair and stretched his legs out, knocking his cane to the floor as he did so. 'Why would you assume I said anything to her? Why would I want to complicate a relationship by communicating with someone? Couldn't it simply be that she looked at me, imagined me naked, got all hot and sweaty and felt an urgent need for a cold shower. Kinda hard not to get over-excited at the thought of me in my birthday suit, wouldn't you say? It's ok, you don't have to answer that 'Jessie'. In fact, I'd prefer it if you didn't.'

'Oh right, of course that's it. Duh, silly me. Clearly after a fairytale date last night with the dishy doc, and a romantic breakfast for two this morning if I'm not mistaken, she's removed the blinkers from her eyes, looked at you in a whole new light and had a House-epiphany. Chosen bachelor number 2, the grizzly, emotionally-retarded 40-something cripple, that has more issues than she has stuffed toys.'

House feigned a hurt look. 'No, honestly, don't hold back. Say what you really mean. You know I'm a real emotional guy.'

'Seriously, what happened?' Wilson asked, picking up House's cane for him and leaning it against the desk. 'Does she know that you know that they went out last night? Have you asked her about it? Did they do it?'

House looked at his friend in disbelief. 'What is it with you and your voyeurism? Enough of this 'did they do it' already. How on earth would I know? You think that I am that tactless that I would just ask her outright?' House pondered the thought. ' Well, ok, you're right, it is the sort of thing I would do. But no, I haven't asked. Clearly, I never got the opportunity, as our damsel appears to be in distress.'

'You know, you're a fool to yourself House. The path was clear, you had her eating out of your hand, and you blew it. You should have done what I said and gone with the dreams, hopes and aspirations line. Told you it was a sure-fire panty-peeler. But no, you plumped for option B, telling her she was overly needy, a dysfunctional doormat. And now you're paying the price. She's moved on, met someone who will be able to give her what she needs. You're just going to have to accept that fact.'

With that, Wilson shook his head disappointedly, just as House's mother had when she took the call informing her that her boy had got caught in 3rd grade stealing sugared almonds off the teacher's desk. House followed Wilson's gaze to the outer office, where Clarkson was looking anxiously out of the window, Foreman was idly flicking through the funnies and Chase had gotten hold of all the marker pens and was amusing himself playing solo Pictionary on the whiteboard. And then, House found himself alone, Wilson having given him another disapproving look before leaving the office.

House took the last part of Wilson's diatribe particularly badly. He knew his friend was right, he had warned him to act on his feelings months ago, or forever run the risk of losing her. But he hadn't been able to act on it. And if Wilson, an eternal optimist and hopeless romantic, was calling time on this potential coupling, then it must surely mean, the ship had sailed, right? The fat lady appeared to have sung.


	10. Executive Plaything

Disclaimer- Oops, didn't put one in for Chapter 9. So will stress doubly that the lovely doctors do not belong to me, if they did I'd keep it a secret anyway

Lab 10.18am

House knew where he'd find her. In times of crisis, she always sought sanctuary in the lab. Personally, he thought she was addicted to the smell of formaldehyde. And, just as he'd thought, there she was, eye glued to the microscope. Jaw clenched. He had no idea what he was about to say to break the ice, to gloss over the sniping comments he'd thrown in her direction a half hour before.

'Don't tell me the centrifuge needed urgently calibrating again. You know you're gonna put those poor lab techs out of a job the way you're going.'

Cameron continued to look down the microscope. She had come here to clear her head, not enter into Round 2 of the long and bloody battle that was her relationship with House.

'Uh-oh. Let me guess, 'scopes make you tearful too. You know, you should consider laying off watching Disney movies at the weekend, it's making you way too sensitive to inanimate objects. Take a tip from me, go watch some Steven Segal. Mind you, I don't expect Brits are too big on him. Figure they're more into Merchant Ivory. What do you reckon? Am I even in the ball-park?'

Cameron turned to face House, thankful that she hadn't been crying, he would have noticed straight away. She had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of knowing that he'd got to her.

'Breakfast at Tiffanys actually, since you appear so interested.'

'Ewwwwwwwww.' House screwed his face up in horror. 'You're pulling my chain, right? He took you to see that on a first date! Did he serenade you on your balcony too? Give you a peck on the cheek and tell you that you have the cutesy-wutesiest lickle button nose?'

Cameron fixed him with her best attempt at a steely glare, and firmly placed her hands on her hips.

'Do you actually need me for something, Dr. House? Or did you just figure it's Tuesday, must be Cameron-bashing day?'

'Need you? No. Want you as my little executive plaything, yes. Better than a stress ball. More pliable. Stress balls don't make great coffee, or know where the sugar is kept. Hell, don't know if I'd trade my Slinky for you though.'

Part of Cameron wanted to smile at this back handed compliment, the greater part however was too busy registering the thought that he knew she had been on a date with Tony. How could he have known? Perhaps he was just fishing and had struck lucky. She looked searchingly into his eyes. Nope, he knew. He most definitely knew. Chase and his big mouth.

'So, what's the real reason you skipped out of class today? Couldn't be the sushi, you would've headed for the little girl's room. Morning sickness? Nah, if you were pregnant, I'd have noticed. If you so much as swallow a Tic Tac your belly bulges. Been imagining me and Cuddy getting jiggy in the elevator again, made you come over all unnecessary. It's ok, it has that effect on me too. You can tell me. I'm a doctor.'

'I just needed some air, and being as the conversation wasn't going anywhere productive, I came in here to get on with some real work. You know, the kind we get paid to do. Last time I looked it wasn't in my job description that I was to be your whipping-girl in debriefing sessions.'

House's eyes brightened as he could feel her begin to rise to his bait.

'Whipping girl? Debriefing? What are you trying to do to me Dr. Cameron? Make me hot under the collar with your double-entendres? I have to say, keep it up, it's working. I trained you well in the art of smutty innuendo.'

House adjusted his grip on the cane, and leant back against the cupboard door. 'In all seriousness, Dr. Clarkson seemed most concerned with your hasty exit. Kinda touching to watch. Him playing Heathcliff to your Cathy. How did you get him eating out of your hand so quickly? Kill him with kindness? Shackle him to the bedpost with a pair of fluffy pink handcuffs?'

'We just caught a movie and grabbed a bite to eat afterwards. Nothing more, nothing less. I've been out for a meal with Foreman and Chase plenty of times, but didn't have you chewing my ear off about it the next day. Why now? What's different?'

House froze. Now or never. Time to tell her. Tell her it was different because Foreman and Chase posed no threat to him in the battle for her affections. Different because Clarkson was everything on paper that Cameron would be attracted to, he ticked all the boxes. Different because now he felt more than just a fatherly protectiveness towards her, had started to feel an emptiness within when he saw her flirting with Clarkson.

Let her know that she made him feel younger, more alive, almost forget his pain. That he cared about her in a way he thought he would never be able to care for anyone again. And she liked him. Just the way he was. Didn't want to change him, always believed in him. Kinda like a shorter version of Wilson with breasts. But he took the easy way out, his bravado not quite strong enough.

'What's different? Just didn't want your pretty little head to be turned by Dr. Moonlight& Roses, for you to take your eye off the ball. He'll break your heart you know. It comes naturally to us guys. It's genetic, out of our control. Right now, he's giving you Audrey Hepburn and sonnets, but in six months time you'll be waiting by the phone, and he'll be stuffing $20 bills into a hooker's hot pink G-string in the Pussycat Club. Trust me on this one.'

'What are you saying?' Cameron asked indignantly. 'All relationships are ultimately doomed, so don't even dip your toe in the pool, 'cause eventually you'll fall in and drown?'

'Got it in one, Sherlock. Relationships are best left well alone. It's the reason men have porn and women bulk-buy batteries. 'Cause the real thing is more trouble than it's worth.'

She frowned, and felt her heart droop a little in dismay. 'That's how you see it? That's how you really feel?'

'Uh-huh. In the words of the King, wise men say only fools rush in. Fools, women and hormonal 16 year olds.'

Cameron looked at him with a mixture of disbelief and disappointment. She dropped her hands from her hips and began to make her way to the door.

'You going? Don't wanna thrust and parry a little more?' House asked her. He wondered what was running through her mind, what had made her shoulders slump and her bottom lip protrude. 'Something I said?', he shouted as she left the room and headed off down the corridor. Nice. Well played House. You finally put the nail in the coffin good and proper. Couldn't have screwed it up any better. Wilson's really gonna drag my ase over the coals on this one. He reached in his pocket for his faithful white friends, and popped two into his mouth. Knowing as he did so that even they weren't going to numb his pain this time.


	11. The Full House

Disclaimer- If I owned them, which I don't, I would clone them so all you guys could have them too

Cuddy's office 11.15am

Cuddy filed the notes away on the Fry kid. And as she did so, she became aware of a presence behind her. Primarily because the said presence was tugging on the tail of her jacket. Like a demanding child trying to get its mother's attention in a toy shop.

'House, you want something by any chance?' she enquired without even turning round, knowing full well it would be him.

'Thank God, you've finally come to your sense. Thought you'd never see the light. Might wanna draw the blinds first. Don't want to upset the queue of adoring females I got outside waiting for me.' He sighed a long drawn-out sigh. 'So many women, so little time. Course, if you let me off a few more clinic duties, I could fix that. Work my way through them, give performance reviews a whole new meaning. Should have gone into OB-GYN, much more fun than kidneys.'

'Cute, very cute. And also as much chance of it ever happening as you have of winning the 1500m in the next Olympics.'

House grabbed at his chest, seemingly in pain. 'Oh, now you've really hurt me. I had totally forgotten I only had the one good leg, and you go open up the wound all over again.'

Cuddy sat down in her chair, and looked wearily at House. 'I'm very busy, is this going to take long?'

'Well, that depends if you want foreplay or not. Your call. Trust me, you'd want the Super-Deluxe package. Also known as the Full-House. C'mon, how you gonna know unless you try?'

'Gee, thanks, and it's not even my birthday. As tempting as this offer is, I kind of get the feeling it would be like having sex with a flamingo. Something I do not wish to experience.'

House smirked. 'Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me. Don't leave it too long though, in women your age, their once perky bits start heading pretty quickly to the Southern Hemisphere. I mean, I'm fine with it, but you might struggle with the fact that you can no longer see your belly.'

House sat down in the seat opposite. 'House, why are you here? Shouldn't you be in the clinic by now? Or rather avoiding me catching you not being in the clinic?'

House helped himself to a candy from the jar on Cuddy's desk. 'Foreman's got it covered. All taken care of. Clarkson is checking in on the Fry kid and Chase is doing a differential diagnosis on himself, so he might be a while.'

'And Cameron?'

House shifted uneasily in his chair. 'Cameron? Cameron is baking cookies or crocheting, doing whatever women do just prior to their afternoon nap.'

'Or...?'

'Or, I have no idea. Last seen in the lab, trying to outstare a microscope. Microscope won. At this present time, she is AWOL.'

Cuddy sighed. 'What did you say or do this time? You really should try and work on your people skills. I'll see if I can't get you booked in to a course on the subject.' She flipped open her diary. 'Give her a break, she's young and thinks very highly of you.'

House began fiddling with his cane. 'Not as highly as the new kid on the block. Very metrosexual, not really my style. I mean moisturiser's for girls, right?'

Cuddy, sensing a nerve had been touched, decided to probe further. 'She has a thing for Dr. Clarkson? Really? Mind you, she's only human, who wouldn't? He's a sweetie.'

House gagged. 'Oh no, not you as well. What is it with your sex? One minute, you're all burning your bras and embracing armpit hair, the next you expect roses around the door, men to pull out chairs for you and goodie bags from Victoria's Secret on the pillow. And we're expected to jump through these ever-changing hoops, just on the off-chance we may get our leg over. Fickle, the lot of you.'

Cuddy smiled. 'Fickle, no. Choosy, yes. And with good reason. Don't tell me your nose is out of joint, House? Little green-eyed monsters burrowing into your brain? What's the matter? Cameron not hot for teacher anymore?'

House grimaced. 'Bah! How could she not be? Just look at me. I got it goin' on as I believe the kids are saying these days. Nope, I was just concerned that she may get distracted in her role, now that someone is putting a spring in her step, song in her heart and notch in her bedpost.'

Cuddy straightened her back. 'Are you actually saying you have a real concern about her ability to do her job, or is this just House double-talk for you being unable to concentrate on your work because your former puppet is having her strings pulled by someone else? Because if it's the former, I'll call her in here and find out what's going on.'

'And if it's the latter?'

Cuddy smiled knowingly. 'If it's the latter, I'd suggest you get off your stubborn behind and act now, or let the ship sail altogether. To quote your mentor Jagger, "If you try sometimes, you might find, you get what you need". But hey, who am I? Since when have you ever listened to a word I say. What's Dr. Wilson's take on the situation?'

'There is no situation. Nothing to have a take on. I was worried that her new found boy-toy may interfere with her work. Now I'm not. I take it back.' Unnerved that he may have said too much already, House got up from his seat, helping himself to a handful of candy as he did so. 'Well, it's been a blast, Dr. Cuddy, but unlike you, I cannot just sit around all day, frittering away the hours. My people need me. And as you know, I'm a real people pleaser.'

'That's it. Now you're off, without actually telling me why you came in here in the first place?'

House turned to look at her as he placed his hand on the door. 'I like to give the girls and boys something to talk about, brighten their otherwise dull and ordinary lives. Like them to think you're getting your daily dose of House-lovin'. Wouldn't want you to get withdrawal symptoms and I got a reputation to preserve. Remember, if you change your mind about the horizontal hoochy-coochy, all you gotta do is page me.'

He winked at her as her left the office. Cuddy reflected briefly on their conversation as she flipped her diary shut. He obviously had it bad if he was trying to get some sort of reaction out of her about Cameron's relationship with Clarkson. But there was just no getting through to him. Such an as, she thought, as she paged Dr. Cameron.


	12. Pink Care Bear

Disclaimer- If I can't own them, and it would appear that is the case, do you think I could possibly just own House's snark?

Cafeteria 12.03pm

House spotted Wilson in the queue, waiting to pay for his lunch. Seizing the opportunity to reduce his waiting time significantly, he half-pushed, half-stumbled his way past a line of indignant medical personnel. As he did so loudly declaring, 'Peg-leg coming through, make way for the comedy cripple,' randomly swiping calves and treading down on the backs of people's shoes with his cane as he did so. As he got to where Wilson stood, he managed to butt in and order a plate of ham and eggs, with salad on the side, and a large cup of black coffee, which he promptly plopped on his friend's tray. And then, with a hearty slap on Wilson's back, he made his way past him, and deposited himself at the nearest vacant table.

Wilson joined him, resting the tray precariously on the table, as he returned the loose change to his pocket. House began hungrily tucking into his lunch, before Wilson even had time to take the plates off the tray. House looked up at him, cheeks puffed full of food, like a squirrel storing nuts for winter, and said gleefully, 'Who said there's no such thing as a free lunch?'. Grinning he returned his full attention to the feast before him.

'Well, clearly it's not a belief you hold dear. Do you ever pay for your own food? Or are you like the Queen, never carry any money on you?'

'It'd be wrong to have a dog and bark yourself,' House mumbled, greedily shoving another forkful of lettuce into his mouth.

'And I'm the dog in this scenario, right? Which would make you what exactly?'

'I am your bestest buddy, you noticed I was having a major emotional crisis, and thought the least you could do was treat me to some chow. Which, by the way, I very much appreciate.'

Wilson, watching House devour the contents of his plate, wondered if in fact the real reason his date with Cameron in the Italian restaurant hadn't gone so well, was because House had the table manners of a pig. And Cameron was the sort of girl who could stretch the consumption of a stick of celery and slice of cucumber out over an entire weekend. The sort who would take an eternity to order her food, have the waiter customise the dish exactly to her requirements and still fiddle with it when it arrived. Eat three forkfuls of something you might feed to a rabbit, then spend the next five days beating herself up about the fact she could no longer get into her jeans without the aid of a shoe horn.

'So, this emotional crisis, finally admitting you have feelings? That's progress of a sort,' Wilson ventured as he took another bite from his tuna salad roll.

'What emotional crisis? Nah, you should know me well enough by now to know I only said that to make you feel sorry for me. Common knowledge that I'm a cold-hearted son of a btch.' House paused, staring at Wilson as he ate his lunch. 'What is it with you and tuna salad rolls anyway? Just 'cause they put dolphin-friendly on the can, doesn't mean the proceeds of each sale actually gets to the dolphins.'

Wilson smiled. 'It's Julie, she wants me to eat healthily. Lower my cholesterol, protect my heart. You've heard of one of those, right?'

'Nice. And healthy means eating the same thing every day? I bet Julie has day of the week underwear. And that she totally flips out if she can't wear the right pair on the right day. I'm bang on the money aren't I?'

Wilson put down his roll and looked at House. 'You want me to discuss my wife's underwear with you? Are you for real?'

House gave Wilson a lop-sided grin. 'Nah, that's ok, you don't have to tell me about Julie's nik-naks. I got a vivid imagination...' He gave out a long sigh and looked into the distance. 'Thank goodness I daydream in colour. I have to say, the hot pink works well on her.'

'Ok, it's worked. You have my full attention. And I'm fairly annoyed. What's going on? You're especially irritating this afternoon, and believe me, that's no mean feat. You wanna talk about it?'

'Nothing to talk about. Everything's just wonderful, my life is exactly how I'd imagined it would be. Couldn't be happier.'

'Right,' Wilson remarked. 'You are an eternal ray of sunshine, the human representation of a Care Bear. You know, the pink one with the rainbow on his belly. Only with a deeper voice and ridiculous Charlie Chaplin walk.'

'Stop, I'm blushing. You say the sweetest things.'

House paused and took a slurp of coffee. 'I talked to Cameron.'

Wilson looked up at him. 'And...?'

'And nothing. Just a date, some Audrey Hepburn, a quiet table for two afterwards, nothing more, nothing less. According to her anyway.'

'And that was all you got? No finding out if they'd made it to third base. No tips on how to improve our techniques in the Olde Englishe style? Have I taught you nothing in all the years I've known you?'

House frowned. 'Now I know why these nurses form a queue at your door. You're so restrained, so gentlemanly-like in your approach. What is it with you and your need to further your sexual knowledge by poking your nose into other people's extra-curricular activities? You go round with a torch shining it into the window of parked cars? You should go see Cuddy. What she don't know about the dirty deed, ain't worth knowing.'

Wilson looked flustered. 'My sex life is fine, at least I have one. A real one, I mean. Unlike you. Seriously, have you done it this millennium yet? Do you know women don't wear foundation garments anymore? Can you even remember what a naked woman looks like without the staples across the middle? 'Cause I have to say, if you don't get any action soon, you may find the leg is the least of your worries in the performance department. I'd seriously consider trading your big white pills for some little blue ones.'

House finished his coffee, and began finishing Wilson's salad. 'Do you have worms, House? What is it with you and food today? You need a woman in your life, someone to take care of you. Cameron would make the perfect little House-frau. Knit you lovely winter sweaters, keep the meatloaf in the oven for when you got home after a long day on your foot, tuck you in at night and read you a bedtime story.'

'I so don't need a woman in my life. Been there, done that. They start marking their territory by leaving a pink razor here, a packet of tampons there, reason enough to knock it on the head in itself. Then they wheedle their way into your kitchen, filling your fridge with nasty, low-fat health food crap. Finally, the piece de resistance, they slink into your bedroom and transform it into a mid-19th century Parisian brothel, filling it with antique lace, lavender and trinkety type things. You are looking at one very contented bachelor. '

Wilson looked at his pager, which had begun beeping. 'Gotta go. Well, finally when you come to terms with the fact that you're in denial, you know where I am. If that day ever comes, I will be more than happy to sit there and tell you what a complete as you are, and show you the wedding snaps of the former Dr. Cameron. Potentially the fourth Mrs. Wilson, if Julie keeps up the silent treatment much longer. I think Allison and I would make a cute couple, don't you?'

House glared at him. 'You still here? Go save some sick children, go fight the fight. I'm bored with you now. You know I may have to start hanging with Kevin in book-keeping. He wouldn't be this obnoxious.'

'His name's Carl, and yes he would if he spent any considerable period of time with you.' Wilson smiled, knowing his comment to House about him and Cameron had made him see red. Considered the thought that he may have to try a new approach on him, think outside the box a little more. He continued thinking about it all the way down the corridor and into Cuddy's office.


	13. Could Get Messy

Disclaimer- Mine all mine, just in the confines of my head. Oh, and there's no Chapter 13, I'm superstitious

Outer office 1.04pm

Cameron sat alone, mindlessly staring at the open textbook. Foreman and Chase had gone to check a patient's apartment, as instructed by House, both of them eagerly seizing the opportunity to skip school for a while. Clarkson was last spotted heading in the direction of the clinic. And as for House, well, she hadn't seen him since their awkward exchange in the lab that morning. As she twiddled her pen, she recalled how she had been paged by Cuddy earlier.

Cameron had been undeniably curious, unable to think what could have prompted Cuddy to have summoned her. After all she had only passed her ten minutes earlier in the corridor. Cameron had hurried along to her office, intrigued and slightly worried. On arriving, she had narrowly avoided a collision with Dr. Wilson, who was on his way out of the office, looking flustered.

'Dr. Cameron, thanks for dropping by at such short notice. Take a seat.' Cuddy smiled reassuringly at her.

Cameron had obliged, smoothing out her lab coat as she sat down. 'No problem, Dr. Cuddy. I was almost done in the lab anyway.'

Cuddy noticed that Cameron appeared tense, wearing her trademark expression of extreme earnestness. 'Do you have any idea why I asked you to call in?', she began.

Cameron shook her head. She couldn't think of any reason whatsoever, but it must be something bad she thought to herself. Cuddy was far too busy to call people of her ranking in, normally only summoning House to exchange a volley of bawdy banter or to slap his wrists about his latest ethical breach.

'Well, I apologise in advance for raising matters of a delicate nature, but as I'm sure you understand, I have an obligation to ensure the hospital runs smoothly. It's been brought to my attention, very recently, that there is a possibility you may not be fully concentrating on your work at the moment, due to matters of a personal nature. I just wanted to give you the opportunity to confirm or deny if that's the case.'

Cameron's eyes visibly widened, genuinely taken aback by the suggestion that she may not be giving herself fully to her work, and a split-second later, having dismissed the thought as utter nonsense, felt her cheeks flush with a mixture of embarrassment and indignation that anyone should be concerning themselves with her private affairs.

She would have blushed even more had she realised that Cuddy was talking about Clarkson, as Cameron had automatically assumed she had been referring to the ongoing battle of wills and crossed wires that defined her relationship with House.

'Here.' Cuddy passed Cameron a glass of water. 'I'm sorry if this discussion has made you a little uncomfortable, but I have a duty to follow up on any concerns that may have been raised. And I felt you should have the chance to state your position on the subject. To tell me that this little thing that's going on right now is not a problem, that it in no way affects your ability to do your job.'

Cameron was torn between spilling the water all over herself, in order that she could make an apologetically hurried exit, or frantically brushing at her lab coat, which always made her feel more reassured when under pressure.

'Dr. Cuddy, I can assure you that nothing is interfering with my work. Not now, nor at any forseeable point in the future. I'm just shocked that someone would say something so unkind, to accuse me of being unprofessional.' She felt herself getting emotional, tears pricking at the back of her eyes, and struggled to regain her composure. To ensure they remained there, not spill out onto her cheeks, and make her appear reactionary and hormonal.

Cuddy, having sensed that Cameron had not taken the criticism levelled at her particularly well, tried to lift the mood slightly. 'I'm sure no malice was intended on the part of the person who brought this issue to my attention, and I certainly don't consider you to be unprofessional. I realise you are a very talented and dedicated doctor. But, you're also human, and I know how things sometimes happen to us, over which we have no control, things that cause us momentarily to take our eye off the ball. Skew our judgement, derail out train of thought.'

Cameron was still looking disturbed at the topic of discussion. She was only half-listening to Cuddy now, as she racked her brain as to who could have approached her and planted the seed of doubt in Cuddy's mind. As far as she could recall, only Foreman and Chase had ever known how she truly felt about House. Yes, Wilson and Cuddy had been aware of their date, some six long months ago now, but they, as far as she knew, had not taken it terribly seriously, regarding it as a stunt she had pulled in order to make House pay for being such an as over the Vogler thing. For making her sweat about who he had chosen to fire. For accepting her resignation. Why would Chase or Foreman have spoken to Cuddy now, there was nothing to be gained from it. Apart from embarrassing her, but they knew of plenty of other, far more childish ways to do that. It didn't add up.

Having got herself a glass of water, Cuddy returned to her chair, and leant forward on the desk, trying to regain Cameron's full attention. 'Dr. Cameron, you are not the first doctor that has entered into a relationship with another doctor, nor will you be the last. And clearly whatever you choose to do outside this hospital in your own time, is none of my business. You've assured me that your feelings and the afore-mentioned thing you have going on, in no way compromises your ability to be a good doctor, and I believe you. And because of this, I have no real need to discuss the matter with him. I just want you to bear this conversation in mind and know that, should you feel the need to talk to anybody, my door is always open.'

Cameron had flinched at the word relationship. Cuddy thought she was in a relationship with House? Why would she think that? Had House set her up and Cuddy fallen for the bait? Or had that hopeless romantic Wilson been meddling, playing Cupid. House wouldn't appreciate this if he found out. And would tease her mercilessly. Mind you, Cameron thought, Cuddy hadn't dismissed the idea of them being together as a couple, so long as it stayed outside the four walls of the hospital. She hadn't said, 'what are you doing, are you mad, steer clear altogether.' And thankfully, Cuddy had stated that she wouldn't be speaking to House. That, at least was good news. He need never know about this conversation. Allow her time to clear her thoughts, put her house in order.

Cuddy, still under the misapprehension that Cameron believed her to be talking about Clarkson, pleased that she had resolved the issue and in her mind, proved House wrong, began to shuffle some paperwork, which Cameron took as a hint that the meeting was now over. Cameron thanked Cuddy for her frankness and left the office, making her way to the bathroom, to steady her nerves before returning to the outer office.

Cuddy, fully satisfied in her mind, that Cameron was not acting all lovestruck over Clarkson as House had initially suggested, began to consider the case that Wilson had stated just prior to Cameron entering the room. That House, as Cuddy had correctly assumed, had a bad case of Cameron, and was unwilling or unable to act upon it. That he may need a little help, some gentle nudging. And that if anyone was letting their emotions affect their ability to think straight and therefore allowing it to impinge on their professional capabilities at work as a result, it was House, not Cameron. Guilty on all counts. And if something wasn't done about his unrequited feelings towards Cameron, Cuddy feared it was only a matter of time before it would all get very messy indeed.


	14. Infectious

Disclaimer- Ignore the comment in the last Chapter, I didn't want a Chapter 13 but somehow I've wound up with it, so there you go. Bad luck in itself. I still don't own them, just in case you're wondering, but I'm working on it.

Men's Room 3.03pm

House looked at his face in the mirror, as he did so splashing his face with the icy water. God, he looked his age today, he thought to himself. Older, perhaps. That's the effect women have on you, even more of a reason to give their whole damn sex a wide berth. Nothing but bother. He unhooked his cane from the edge of the basin, and took a step forward towards the door. As he did so, Cuddy entered the room.

'Just the man, House, I've been looking for you.'

'Dr. Cuddy, not again, not in here. Jeez, I know all this stainless steel is real easy to wipe clean afterwards, but hey, I figured you'd at least allow me the luxury of a little comfort in my advancing years. If not a mattress, do me a favour and throw me down on a little wall to wall Axminster.'

Unimpressed by his juvenile remarks, Cuddy looked him firmly in the eye and placed her hands on her hips purposefully.

'Dr. Cameron's work is not affected by her "relationship" with Dr. Clarkson, I'm fully satisfied with that. Thought you should know, caring as much as you do about your employee's welfare.'

House leant back against the basin. 'And you know that to be true because...? Been playing with my Magic 8 ball again? Reading tea-leaves? Held a glass up against her bedroom wall?'

'No, I asked her outright. She's given me her word that her private life is just that...private.'

House shouldn't have been surprised that Cuddy had confronted her, but he was all the same. ' You spoke to her? When? Just now? Why?'

'What is this? 20 questions? I called her in because you mentioned this morning that you had a few concerns, concerns that held potential implications for the well-being of the department. I had a duty to investigate.'

'And I told you to forget it. Just my imagination getting carried away by itself again. You know how active my imagination can be. Right now, I'm picturing you before me in nothing but a birthday suit and a smile.'

Cuddy arched her eyebrows as House continued. ' So, she did admit they're in a relationship then? Did you get the play by play? Wanna fill me in on all the details over breakfast?'

'Er.. no. She didn't specifically say that they were dating, but she didn't say that they weren't either. Anyway, they aren't my primary concern at the moment. You are.'

House grinned at her. 'Awwww, sweet. You're worried about me? You know you could always drop by later on with some chicken soup and I'll let you play mommy.'

'Again, that would be a no. Tempting or terrifying, either way, still a no. I'm worried about the fact that you're in denial, and as a result, running the risk of letting your emotions interfere with work. The way I see it, only you can fix this. How hard can it be?'

House feigned a look of shock. 'Dr. Cuddy, wash your filthy mouth and mind out, right now! You're a doctor, you don't need me to answer that question surely! As you well know, it's only my leg that suffers from restricted blood flow.'

Cuddy grinned, aware she had walked straight into that one. 'Correction. I'm starting to think your brain has a similar affliction. I meant, how hard can it be to just tell her how you feel. I know you'd like us all to believe you're a fully paid up member of the brooding and melancholy brigade, but you can't fool me. This is your life we're talking about, not some Woody Allen film. Enough with the angst already! She likes you and despite your best attempts to conceal it, you have feelings for her. Stop analysing and go with your instincts.'

House, having heard enough and no longer in the mood to playfully rut antlers with her anymore, stepped forward, tentatively extending a very numb leg as he did so. He looked idly beyond Cuddy's left shoulder, as she continued to speak.

'I mean, seriously, you're not an adolescent on prom night. You lived with Stacy for long enough, you should know how the whole man/woman thing goes. Hell, you don't have to show your sensitive side to us mere mortals. Just to her. Once you've blown the cobwebs off and reacquainted yourself with it.'

With that, Chase walked into the room, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw Cuddy before him. 'Oh, sorry,' he mumbled, looking behind himself at the symbol on the door, unsure as to whether he'd walked into the wrong bathroom. Confirming the fact that it was indeed the little boys room, he wandered aimlessly back out, the momentary interruption in his train of thought causing him to forget why he had even gone in there in the first place.

House frowned. 'Frightening that a brain that razor-sharp is allowed to venture out on it's own , isn't it? You worry about my ability to keep the home fires burning when I got Scrappy-Doo there as a sidekick? Anyway, I'd love to stay and waste my time further, but I have to go tend to the sick and needy. However, I will, as I close my eyes tonight and drift off to sleep, ponder your words of wisdom. Assuming of course you allow me to get some rest tonight. Even God had to rest on the seventh day.'

Cuddy sighed, realising that she hadn't managed to make any in-roads at all with this conversation. 'Fine, have it your way. Continue to keep yourself closed off. Stay on the bench and watch opportunities pass you by if it makes you happy. But I gotta tell you, I don't see a whole lot of happy coming from you right now. I see someone fighting inner conflicts, someone cutting off their nose to spite their own face. And trust me, however sore you're feeling right now, you're gonna be hitting the Vicodin tenfold when you see the source of your pain riding off into the sunset with someone who wasn't too afraid to open up a little.'

Cuddy looked at him, his eyes now firmly fixed on the handle of his cane, knuckles white and locked. She tutted and left the bathroom, walking straight into Chase, still unsure of where he was or what he was doing.

House let out a sigh of relief that she had finally given up with the sermon. He hated that she was right. Wilson too for that matter. Both smart enough to be doctors, he thought to himself. Yes, they only wanted what was best for him. But they had no idea. None whatsoever. Of the pain he had gone through when Stacy had left, the depths he had plummeted when he was left alone with too much time on his hands, just him, his dark thoughts and the physical manifestation of her betrayal.

He'd been open with her, let her in. Trusted her. And she'd played stickball with his guts. And even though, years had passed, he hadn't managed to let it go. He couldn't, wouldn't allow himself to be that vulnerable again. And seeing another so vulnerable in Cameron, he knew just how much damage he could inflict unwillingly upon her. That's why he wore the 'Keep Out' sign on his forehead, the one she clearly hadn't taken notice of.

He turned back to the basin, glancing briefly in the mirror again. And as he did so, he swore he'd aged further still in the last fifteen minutes. As he splashed more water on his face, he knew if he didn't extract this particular thorn from his side, chances were it would most likely turn septic and spread a virulent infection through his entire body, even potentially making it's way into his heart.


	15. Hide And Seek

Disclaimer- Still working on owning the things I don't own, House comes under this category, along with an AC Cobra, a computer that doesn't hate me and a villa in the South of France.

House's office 4.24pm

Cameron approached House's office and hesitated. He looked so peaceful, napping soundly in his chair. She wanted to stay a while and relish the thought that he could seem so untroubled, savour the fact that his guard was down, even the mighty House unable to maintain the facade in sleep. She pushed the door open gently, removing the file from underneath her right arm and clutching it tightly to her chest, readily available if she should need to produce a motive as to why she was actually in his office. She headed towards the desk, wanting to witness this rare event at closer quarters.

His mouth was slightly open, his right hand, draped lazily over the arm of the chair, still clutching the iPod, and his cane (the one with the vertical stripes, she noted), lay upon his lap. She was momentarily transfixed, wondering why he couldn't do peaceful during his waking hours. Deep in her thoughts, enjoying the moment, she was sharply brought back to reality by the fact that something was brushing against the hem of her lab coat.

Looking down, file clamped firmly over her mouth to stop her from shouting out, she saw a mop of straggly blonde hair poking out from beneath House's desk. Overcoming her initial reaction, that a mystery woman had sought refuge there, she breathed a sigh of relief upon realising it was only Chase. Chase? Under House's desk? Beckoning her to come down to his level, she did so, nervously.

'What are you doing?' she hissed angrily. Partly because she was unsure if he had seen the Bambi-like expression her face had taken on when she had been watching House lie sleeping, and partly because she was annoyed that Chase had so blatantly invaded House's privacy.

'Have you seen Foreman?' Chase whispered, eyes darting left and right wildly, like a frenzied spectator observing a blistering Wimbledon rally.

'No, 'Cameron replied. 'Why? What are you doing? Why are you under House's desk whilst he's sat at it?'

Chase, still acting surreptitiously, looked slightly taken aback. 'House is at his desk? I didn't notice.' He looked behind him on the floor, and spotted House's Nike-clad feet.

Cameron, disturbed that Chase had clearly gone past the point at which he could be saved, decided to have one last stab at articulate conversation.

'Why are you hiding from Foreman? Did you run your dumb Aussie mouth just a little too much again?'

'Er... no, Allison. We were playing hide and seek. I left him in the outer office counting to 40, and I came in here to hide, figured no-one's gonna look under House's desk, right?' He laughed at the sheer brilliance of his cunning plan. 'I mean, Foreman's got to be going crazy out there now, searching every exam room, every closet, looking for me. It's been nearly twenty minutes.'

Cameron, still crouching, had spotted Foreman in the next room. 'Absolutely. Out of his mind, I'll bet. Or, there is always the chance he has finally gotten some sense and is sat in the other room, reading the newspaper.'

Chase flicked the hair out of his eyes, adopting a look of disbelief. 'Serious? But he hasn't found me yet, what's he thinking of?'

Cameron raised her eyebrows at him, and stood up. Chase, outraged at the thought that Foreman had half-heartedly abandoned their afternoon session of fun and games, also went to stand up. Before coming out from beneath the desk. In doing so, smacking his head hard on the underside, and interrupting House's ever so slightly adult dream.

House, reflexes unaffected by his deep slumber, automatically prodded the moaning mass beneath his desk with his cane, thus prompting loader moans and a high-pitched yelp. Seeing Cameron stood before him, he deduced correctly that there was only one other person who could yelp like a girl when subjected to pain.

'Dr. Chase, would you like to come out now, whilst you still have your vitals intact?'

He pushed his chair back, whilst remaining seated in it, allowing a dishevelled and slightly flushed Chase to emerge, frantically rubbing both the top of his head and his left ribcage. He scowled at House.

'What'd you poke me with your stick for?'

House glared at him. 'For a number of reasons, the majority of which are way beyond your comprehension. However, the main reason was, when you are rudely awakened from a very pleasant dream by the groaning of a young doctor underneath your desk, and you realise it's one of the same sex, but from an entirely different planet, so many illusions are shattered. You know, if you'd wanted to get closer to me, you should have said, we could have done some male bonding together. 'Foreman appeared in the doorway, a look of mild amusement on his face.

'I just got poked with a big stick because of you,' Chase growled. 'Did you even try and look for me?'

'Nope,' Foreman said matter of factly, as he sat down in the chair opposite House. No point, I could hear you giggling to yourself in here, and I knew you'd just cry like a baby if I found you. Didn't want to spoil your fun.'

Cameron, disappointed that her blissful image of House in repose had been tarnished by the ridiculous behaviour of her colleagues, began to head towards the other office. House's eyes tracked her every move, until he saw Clarkson heading in towards them, which temporarily stopped Cameron from leaving.

'Oh goody, the gangs all here. Like a high school reunion. Anyone got an old yearbook we could flick through?' House said, whilst rooting through his top drawer, looking for his pills.

Foreman looked up at Clarkson 'Where've you been hiding all afternoon? I've been looking for you.'

Chase, distinctly put out by this remark, turned to face Foreman. 'Oh, yeah, right. You've been looking for him and he wasn't even playing the game. Charming!'

Clarkson, considering himself to be above such childishness replied, 'I've been on clinic duty all afternoon. I have to say, it's been thoroughly enjoyable. I find it so refreshing to take a break from all the life threatening dramas we have in here, and to have so much direct contact with patients.'

House felt his face contort, appalled at the fact that someone could actually use the words clinic duty and enjoyable in the same sentence. And also, because he saw Cameron, who so far had been wearing her mask of supreme indifference to the goings-on around her, suddenly perk up at the sound of the clipped accent Clarkson delivered his reply in. Resulting in House knocking back three Vicodin in one hit.

'Why, did you need me for something Eric?' Clarkson enquired, giving Cameron a little smile as he spoke.

'Just wondered if you were still on for tonight,' Foreman replied. 'Cameron will be there, and Chase of course, but don't let that put you off. He'll be face down in a bowl of nuts after two beers after the knock he just took to the head.'

'No problem,' Clarkson said. 'I'll meet you there about 8 o'clock, ok? Allison, do you want me to pick you up on the way through? It's no bother at all. You can have a few drinks that way, let your hair down.'

Cameron shifted awkwardly, knowing full well House would be staring at her now, awaiting her response. Suggesting she let her hair down? What was he thinking? She mumbled a response, something along the lines of getting back to him before the end of shift, smiled weakly and left, still clutching the file to her chest. All the while, successfully avoiding eye contact with the one person she secretly wished would have offered to pick her up this evening, the one she wanted so very badly to let her hair down with.

The one who after she had left the room, established that the young doctors were meeting at Henderson's around eight-ish to celebrate Foreman's baby sister's graduation. The one who had inwardly suppressed the desire to shout out 'Yes please!' when Foreman out of kindness (or was it pity) had invited him along also. Instead he'd politely declined, claiming he had a mountain of paperwork to complete for Cuddy that would keep him working late at the office. The one who wished, as the remaining doctors had left, that he could just have a few drinks, let his hair down and maybe, just maybe, allow himself to let go, if just for one night.


	16. Happy Hour

Disclaimer- I don't believe anyone should own them, they're free spirits at heart

Hendersons Bar 8.45pm

'Just drink it.'

'Nope, it's a girl's drink.'

'Because..?'

'Because it has a fluffy pink umbrella poking out of it.'

'Drink it, fool.'

'Nope.'

'It cost me ten bucks, just drink it. You're effeminate enough already without worrying a drink's going to make you seem any worse.'

'No way.'

'Fine,' Foreman growled, downing it himself instead. 'Pick something else. You asked for "Sex on the Beach", what did you really expect it to be? You think you were gonna get a half hour with the waitress?'

Chase smiled and scanned the cocktail menu again, his eyes already glazed from the four beers he had lined his previously empty stomach with. 'What's Clarkson having?'

'A non-alcoholic Cosmopolitan. And Cameron's ordered a "Between the Sheets" before you ask. Why don't you just have another beer, for Christ sakes? I'm growing a beard here waiting.'

'No, I got it, this is definitely the one for me', Chase sniggered loudly. 'I want a "G-Spot."'

Foreman arched his brow. 'Ok, a little louder, I don't think the people in the bar across the street quite caught that. You'd better not reject this one as well.' He passed Chase two ornately decorated cocktail glasses. 'Here, take these over to the lovebirds.'

Chase obligingly picked up the cocktails Cameron and Clarkson had requested, zig-zagging his way through the swelling crowd at the bar. Foreman joined him shortly afterwards, with Chase's elaborate concoction and a beer for himself. 'Indy still dancing?' he asked Cameron as he sat down.

Cameron took a sip of her drink and glanced in the direction of the dance floor. 'Yes, she's a real sweetie. You must be so proud of her, Eric. An honours degree from Princeton is no mean feat.'

Foreman spotted his sister, dancing as though her life depended on it on the perimeter of the dance floor, festooned in streamers and balloons, surrounded by her friends, all equally energetic and gaily decorated. 'Real proud, she's the one with brains, no doubt about it.'

Chase, almost taking his eye out with his sparkly cocktail stirrer, slurred, 'Definitely got your share of grey matter, I'd say. And from where I'm sitting, she wasn't exactly last in the queue when they dished out looks either. She available?'

Foreman placed his beer down firmly on the table. 'Don't even think about it, pretty boy,' he hissed. 'You know, you're truly something. Both mouth and pants, unable to stay zipped for long.'

Outside Hendersons Bar 9.24pm

House sat alone in his car. He'd been there for almost 40 minutes now, re-running his predicament over in his mind whilst listening to some Eric Clapton. Unsure of his next move, he looked at himself in the rear-view mirror. On arriving home earlier, he had paced uneasily like a captive tiger for about an hour. Figuring that once he'd showered, changed and made the effort to get into his car, that the indecisiveness would pass. That he'd know what he should do. But it hadn't. And he didn't.

He knew if he didn't do something, he would still be feeling like this in an hours time. And that if he turned the car around and headed back, alone, that he'd be feeling even worse still as the evning went on. Losing sleep imagining how Cameron may have looked with a few drinks inside her. How she may have behaved towards Clarkson when he gallantly took her home, reassured her when waves of alcohol-induced nausea had overwhelmed her. How she would have melted him with that doe-eyed vulnerability, Clarkson noticing the light in her eyes that had bewitched House countless times in the past, but most memorably that one time in his living room as she'd extended her hand to him. Tried to elicit a response, to provoke him into revealing how he really felt. And how Clarkson, for all his talk of treating a woman with respect, wooing them gradually, would have found himself sucked in, like waders in quicksand, testosterone flowing rampantly, unable to stop himself from taking a decidedly unprofessional interest in her. How Cameron, ever the hopeless romantic, and slightly the worse for wear, would have responded needily, transferring her unrequited passions onto Mr. Right Now.

House snapped sharply back to reality, searing pain shattering his nightmarish vision. Only the pain was not in his thigh, it was stabbing him in his chest. Automatically reaching for his Vicodin, he stopped himself just in time, realising his trusty panacea would not be able to help him on this one. That the only way to ease the discomfort was to take action. Whether he would make the right call or not, he was still unclear, but his self-imposed differential diagnosis on his ever-worsening condition had a very grim prognosis if treatment wasn't started soon.

As he walked into the bar, he spotted his team straight away. Kind of hard to miss them. Clarkson was attempting to restrain Foreman, who in turn was blindly waving his fists at what appeared to be Chase- a Dr. Chase who was partially buried beneath a sea of streamers and the assorted limbs of a voracious pack of scantily-clad women. A young woman standing directly behind the jumbled heap of flailing arms and legs, House correctly identified as Foreman's sister. Predominantly due to the fact she was wearing a mock-up graduation outfit and was yelling 'Eric' at the top of her lungs, as her eyeballs went into free-fall.

And just beyond the chaos, he saw Cameron, alone at a table that was littered with a multitude of empty bottles and glasses, one of which she was holding aloft as if raising a lonely solitary toast to an imaginary friend, whilst smiling pathetically at it. 'Oh boy,' he thought to himself, 'I've missed one hell of a party here.'

He limped towards the heaving mass of bodies that three-quarters of his team were enveloped in and deftly jabbed his cane in amongst them. As the crowd dispersed, Foreman found himself being restrained by both his sister and Clarkson. Chase emerged from the dwindling throng, shirt torn, face plastered with a particularly lurid shade of lipstick, and looking genuinely bewildered. House eventually persuaded Foreman to calm down slightly and take his sister home in a cab, whilst Clarkson appeared deeply unimpressed having been assigned the role of Chases's chaperone, strict instructions issued not to just dump him at the door, but to get him inside and ply him with strong coffee.

Which just left Cameron, a Cameron who was seemingly oblivious to the excitement that had taken place twenty feet in front of her. Glassy-eyed and most definitely having let her hair down, she didn't even notice House's presence until he sat down beside her, as he did so placing two drinks on the table before them. Double JD on the rocks for him, black coffee for her.


	17. One For The Road

Disclaimer- I'm growing a beard here waiting for the day they become mine, until then, I say once more, they don't belong to me

Hendersons Bar 10.18pm

House sat as close to her as he dared. Which wasn't very close at all. Mindful of the fact that she had plainly enjoyed more than 'one for the road' (unless the road in question was the Pan-American Highway), now wouldn't be the right time. To move in closer, to touch her. Wanted to though. Just to feel the warmth of human skin, her skin. But it wouldn't be right. Her sensibilities were compromised, sensory faculties impaired. Basing his judgement on empirical evidence, he concluded that the copious amount of alcohol she'd ingested was the real reason her pupils were dilated, cheeks flushed and breathing seemingly shallow. Nothing to do with her attraction to him. Nope, definitely not. So why then did his symptoms mirror hers so perfectly? A large bourbon hardly constituted intoxication, especially by his standards. He knew it would take at least four or five doubles for him to really feel the effects, to allow him to free his inner House.

She was smiling at him, dreamily, and if he wasn't mistaken, a little too knowingly. As though she could read his unspoken thoughts, see right through his specially reinforced woman-proof armour plating. Even through the heady mist multiple, over-priced cocktails had cast upon her. She merely toyed with the coffee he had placed before her, despite his persistence in asking her to drink it. An act of defiance, he wondered. Or perhaps she felt that sobering up would make her feel as awkward as he now felt. Would mean that anything she said or did couldn't be attributed at a later date to her being under the influence. She's smart, he thought as he ordered another two doubles, both for himself, and a white wine spritzer for her. No way he was ordering anything that was electric blue in colour, adorned garishly with paper parasols and bearing the name of a suggestive sexual practice. Hell, if she didn't intend to slow down with the drinking, he may as well join her in her state of rosy numbness.

Thirty minutes passed. House was decidedly more relaxed. Not quite there yet, but heading in the right direction. The edges were a little more blurred, he had closed the physical divide between them marginally and no longer felt self-conscious as a result of her unblinking stare. Neither one had said much, predominantly due to her inability to string a coherent sentence together and his fear of saying the wrong thing. No longer certain of what was right or wrong. But as he ordered yet another large one, his tongue began to loosen slightly. His body language suggested he was starting to let go, to unclench. He began to feel a warmth wash over him, not dissimilar to the sensation he got from taking too many pills in too short a time frame. But without the bitter aftertaste.

A warmth that fleetingly made him consider the prospect of telling her that she had slipped through the net, gotten past his defences. That teasingly threatened to mention she looked radiant in her drunken state, even with her smudged mascara and smeared lipstick. Perhaps more so because of it. She seemed more womanly, her aura of a vestal virgin now but a distant memory as she emitted a deep, throaty laugh at his scathing comments about Chase's idiocy and impression of Foreman's spinning eyeballs.

A warmth so pervasive, he found himself struggling to keep his emotions in check as she brushed against him on rising from her seat. As she rested her hands on his shoulders whilst standing behind him, pressing her form against him slightly whilst breathily issuing instructions to get the drinks in before she returned from the bathroom. Which he gladly did, relieved that the stirrings he felt, in a region just south of the brain and considerably north of his loins, meant that his heart and soul had not been completely annihilated as a result of earlier betrayals suffered. Merely suppressed, deprived of vital oxygen for the last six years. Buried deep beneath various layers of hurt, regret, bitterness, fear and scorn. Now tentatively reawakened by a mixture of Cameron's deep-seated, unwavering belief in him and a profusion of strong liquor.

Her imminent return from the bathroom filled him with a tingling sense of anticipation and longing, coupled with a gritty realisation that no matter how much older and wiser you got, there was never an easy way to break the ice when it came to laying bare your feelings. Putting your cards on the table. Glancing at his watch he swiftly downed his drink, his courage boosted by the amber liquid burning at his throat. Tried to clear a space in his woolly head, a corner of his addled mind where he could map out how the next part was supposed to go. Clearly unfit to drive, calling a cab was a practicality that had to be observed. But where to? His place? Hers? Neither? Another bar with a later license? What would her take be on it all, what would she want to do? Should he wait for her to suggest the next move? Or should he finally take the lead, call time on this emotionally-fraught pas-de-deux?

She returned, brushing by him again. Unsettled by how the briefest contact of her knee against his as she unceremoniously clambered into her seat, could make him feel that overwhelming rush. How the simple act of spending an eternity rooting through her purse for some unknown article, ultimately unfound, endeared her to him even more. Relishing the moment she became girlishly embarrassed when a fluffy pink key fob tumbled out onto the table and he poked fun at her for owning something so ridiculous that it should rightfully belong to Chase.

'I'll call a cab', he ventured, knowing that a simple statement such as that could not be misconstrued. 'Where shall I say we're headed to?' Placing the onus on her to call the next shot.

'I think I hear my bed calling', she said. With that ambiguous remark ringing in his ears, he made his way to the nearest payphone, wishing he'd had time to consume another drink.


	18. Not Waving, But Drowning

Disclaimer- It's my birthday soon, it'd be nice to wake up and find that they were mine, but sadly they're not

Cameron's apartment 11.47pm

House languidly reclined on the sofa. Glass of single malt in hand, noisy spinning little people in his head. Cameron sat before him on the edge of the table, her back towards him as she tried unsuccessfully to clear the messages on her answerphone.

'Beep-it's me Foreman, you hiding that antipodean a$$hole there? Pick up, I wanna talk to the fool...beep- Ally, it's Laurie, just wondered how you were. Must be out with Tony, lucky girl. Speak to you tomorrow. Loves ya pumpkin...beep-Alllllllllison, it's the Chase-ster here, want me to come over? You know you SO do. Call me back when you've stopped fantasising about my huge... (loud hiccuping, followed by a dull thud)...beep- Foreman again, Cameron pick up, Indy's worried about you, did House take you home? You sobered up yet? If that Aussie muppet's there, I'm gonna be real...beep-Allison, just wanted to make sure you're tucked up in your PJs, see you tomorrow Princess...beep-End of messages...'

House swirled the whisky around in the tumbler, especially irritated by the last message. Princess? Was he for real? As for Laurie, sister? Friend? Friend with benefits? He smirked at the sordid mental image that had just scampered suggestively through his head. Nope, the voice sounded too much like Camerons for it to have any sapphic significance. Sing-songy almost, a proper girly-girl. Unlike the Cameron he was alone with now.

A Cameron who wouldn't have looked out of place in a Rolling Stones video (Love Is Strong came to mind immediately), hair tousled, make-up barely clinging to her face, low-riders fully living up to their name as she leant away from him towards the phone. Blessing him with a mental image that he hoped would remain burnt onto his retinas eternally, one he would delight in recalling when they next faced each other in their more familiar sterile environment, her sitting stiffly upright in her starchy lab coat, hair scraped back into her best attempt at a no-nonsense ponytail. Glaring indignantly at him, defying him to imagine her as anything other than a professional counterpart. One who would never admit that she had thrown caution to the wind and held his hand tightly in the back of the cab, whilst drunkenly revealing that she found his limp strangely desirable. And not because she wanted to fix it.

She stood up and slowly turned towards him. 'Want another?' she enquired, nodding at his almost empty glass. 'Or do you have to be somewhere?'

He looked firstly at his glass, then at her standing before him, bottle of Glenfiddich in hand. 'Where I am now is just fine,' he drawled, extending the glass in her direction. Thinking as he did that the only place he'd rather be at that precise moment wasn't usually where a decent man would suggest leading his impressionable young co-worker to when she was so markedly inebriated. And cursed himself silently, for still having some moral fibre even under the influence of an almost obscene amount of whisky.

She filled the glass three-quarters full, placed the bottle down on the table and tried her hardest to create an illusion of sobriety as she wobbled off in the direction of the kitchen. Returning with another glass, she promptly filled it with the dwindling supply of scotch and sat beside him.

'Some night, huh?' she said, as she tucked her feet beneath her.

'Well, personally, I would have had an even bigger blast if I'd been there to see how Chase ended up with Foreman baying for his blood, but knowing how Chase operates, there will always be a next time.'

Cameron laughed. 'I can't believe he tried his luck with Indy, grabbing her butt like that in front of Eric. Guess drink makes people do the craziest things, eh?'

Awkwardly smiling, he realised that was his cue, his window of opportunity. It'd be so easy to blame it on the drink tomorrow if it all went horribly wrong. Or time to savour the start of something very pleasing if it didn't. A method of pain relief available without prescription, but just as addictive.

He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, aware that his leg was reminding him of an interminable period since it's last Vicodin boost. And on repositioning himself, he realised his good leg was firmly pressed up against hers. It seemed appropriate to leave it there. She didn't seem to mind, after all she'd been the one impulsively grabbing his hand less than thirty minutes ago.

"I was much further out than you thought, not waving but drowning," he said in hushed tones, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

'Sorry?'

"Not waving but drowning," he repeated, a little louder this time. 'Stevie Smith. Kinda sums things up nicely, don't you think? For both of us I mean.' It was feeble, he knew it, but in the words of another, his inner voice found an outlet.

'We're drowning?' she said, desperately trying to unravel the riddle he'd just idly tossed in her direction. 'Want to run it by me again, literally this time?'

'Nope.' He knocked back the last of his whisky and placed the glass down heavily. 'You oughta know by now I love the use of metaphors, and at least this one doesn't have sporting connotations.'

'I don't want to drown.' Pausing to allow the literal meaning of his aside sink in, she continued, 'How do we grab hold of the life raft?'

He smiled at her, her face a little closer than he'd realised, cheered that she'd finally got his literary allusion. 'I think drinking the distillery dry may have helped us somewhat.' Frustrated that he would have to interrupt the decidedly easy flow of conversation, but aware that his bladder would seriously disgrace itself if he didn't, he pushed himself up off the sofa. Leaning heavily on his cane as he felt giddiness wash over him. Regaining his composure, he made his way around the couch, stopping momentarily to lean back towards her. Placing his hand lightly on her left shoulder, he brought his mouth down close to her ear and whispered softly, 'I like you. You said you had to know.'

As he shuffled off to the bathroom, Cameron felt her jaw drop. Had he just said what she thought he'd said, or was the drink really screwing with her mind? She felt her chest tighten and her eyes smart with disbelief. She snapped them shut, trying to keep reality out, to concentrate her mind on the words just spoken, the closeness of his breath against her neck. She had spent oh so long imagining what it would feel like, to hear him admit what she had always secretly hoped to be true, that he had feelings for her. She never seriously thought she'd live long enough to see it actually happen though. She kept her eyes shut as she allowed her mind to drift.

Returning from his brief interlude, House decided to set the wheels in motion, but in doing do was unable to look her in the eye. Not through fear of rejection or seeing disinterest on her face, he was well aware she wanted this as much as he did. But he was stepping boldly into the unknown. With only one good leg. Significantly increasing the likelihood of a fall eventually. So, he found himself halfway between the bathroom door and the back of the couch, two Vicodin firmly lodged in his throat, as he began to speak.

'I'm drunk, nervous and most likely about to make a total a$$ of myself. But what I said before, was true. Just took me a little while to get used to the idea, that's all. Better late than never, huh? And if my memory serves me well, I seem to recall you mentioning that you may not think I'm altogether repugnant to you. Which means at least we have some common ground, 'cause I'm not totally repugnant to me either!' He paused. 'So, I suppose that means we have more going for us than some married couples, we both have something we agree on.'

His revelations not having been met with laughter or scorn, he began edging towards the back of the sofa, hesitantly. 'I have no clue what we do next, I don't know where this will go, I don't even know if it's a particularly good idea. But something had to give. In the battle of raging hormones versus common sense, it would appear testosterone scoops the gold. So, I was thinking'- he gently ran his long fingers beneath her hair, allowing them to brush the nape of her neck lightly- 'maybe we could go out on a limb, no pun intended.'

He felt his spirits plummet dramatically on realising his heartfelt monologue had all been for nothing. That Cameron wasn't so much asleep, as deeply unconscious, four hours of relentless drinking having finally got the better of her. He allowed his fingers to remain entwined in her locks a moment longer, before leaning over and kissing the top of her head tenderly. Laughing weakly to himself, having failed to get even his most ardent groupie, paralytic or otherwise into the sack.

He removed the empty glass from her grasp, filled it with the last of the scotch and sat down beside her, wishing that the contentment evident on her still features was something he would one day find within himself.


	19. The Morning After

Disclaimer- Nope, definitely don't own 'em, more's the pity

Cameron's apartment Wednesday 7.56am

House opened one eye groggily. To find himself swaddled in a pale pink fleecy comforter. Despite his crashing headache and the fact that his brain was mush, he was certain he owned nothing that was either pink or fluffy, much less an article that was a combination of two such disagreeable categories. Horrified, he tried to find the energy to push it away from his chin. But for some reason his hand was not responding to the signals his brain was transmitting.

Aware that alcohol may well have played a part in his motor functions being impaired, due to the vile taste in his mouth and the empty bottle of scotch he could see lying on its side nearby, he attempted once more to get his hand to obey his command. Frustrated, he opened his other eye blearily, keen to see what the problem was. And was startled to see a mane of tangled hair on his chest. Hair that wasn't his. Wrong colour and way too much of it for it to be his. Chest wig? Ha! Definitely hadn't been drunk enough to have purchased one of those. Surely? Upon further inspection, he realised it was in fact attached to another human being, one who was also wrapped in the afore-mentioned comforter. Feeling the faint rise and fall of another's chest on his, he was relieved that at least they were breathing. Thank God, he wasn't laid beneath a corpse, not a good way to start the day.

Keen not to disturb his new-found sleeping partner until he'd at least established their identity, he used his restricted mobility to his advantage and turned his attention to his surroundings. A whole lot of cream emulsion. A large treadmill. Traces of vanilla fragrance in his nostrils. Definitely not my house, he thought. Or Wilson's. Besides, Julie was blonde, so at least he hadn't got down with his best pal's missus. Huge relief. Sleeping with the Honey Monster would never be high on his list of priorities, regardless of whether she was married to his only friend or not. No clues visible amongst the debris on the table, just empty glasses, a fancy candle arrangement and a purse with its contents scattered. OH SH$T! He spotted a fluffy pink key fob, and in a heartbeat, it all came flooding back.

Unable to recoil, due to the owner of the offensive trinket being prostate across him, he lifted his head slightly, glanced down at Cameron and slumped his head back on the couch, sighing heavily as he did so. He could see his feet poking out from beneath the covers, and noticed he had socks on. Which was either a good thing, signifying he hadn't got naked in front of her, or a very bad thing, meaning he had got up close and personal but, in a bizarre attempt to maintain some modesty, had decided to keep his socks on. Nice. Classy.

As his brain slowly began to reassemble its various parts, he decided that it was definitely sometime after 7am because the daylight was streaming in through the blinds and no later than 10am, because the phone wasn't ringing off the hook to find out why Dr. Cameron hadn't reported for duty. His brain was also trying to tell him via his bladder that he needed to get up. Soon. Or it would all get very messy. What are you thinking you moron, he mumbled, how much more messy could it possibly get?

As he pondered the true awfulness of his current predicament, he felt a stirring. Heard a murmur. Followed by a delicate little cough. And, then, if he wasn't very much mistaken a hand on his belly. Not through his T-shirt either. Definitely skin on skin contact. Highly ticklish as he was, he could contain himself no longer. He jerked violently, and as he did so, music began to blare noisily from another room. He had no idea who the screaming banshee on the radio/alarm was, but he distinctly heard whooping and a woman's voice claiming man, she felt like a woman. Oh Lord, help me please, he thought. I'm in the 9th circle of Hell.

Cameron sat bolt upright, hair completely covering her face, looking like an extra from Terrahawks. She blindly reached out to shut the alarm off, unable to see anything and oblivious to the fact the alarm was in another room altogether. In her confusion she managed to whack House sharply across the left ear. He grunted angrily, causing her to squeal loudly, blissfully unaware up until that point that she had spent the night with anything or anyone other than her dreams.

'Dr. House, what…? I mean…' She quickly glanced at herself and saw she was partially clothed, as was he. He looked how she felt. Tired, hungover and uneasy.

'Good morning, Dr. Cameron. I appear to have taken a wrong turning on the way home, and inadvertently wound up on your couch. Tsk, silly me!' He hoped making light would dissolve what was going to be a uncomfortable situation.

Cameron, speechless, stared at him open-mouthed. You're laid on your boss, laid on House for Chrissakes woman, what are you doing, she thought. Get up, Allison, get a grip. She swung herself round, feet tangled in the comforter, buttocks wedged in the gap between his legs, arms flailing helplessly in trying to push herself forward so her feet would reach the ground, aware as she tried in vain, that she was wriggling all over his bad leg.

As she writhed indelicately over him, a sensation he wished he had experienced in slightly more erotic circumstances, his hands were finally released from the confines of the comforter. He was hugely relieved to see he was almost fully clothed. His shirt was missing, but he had his favourite Black Crowes T-shirt on. His jeans were definitely still there, he could feel them cutting him in two, although the belt was strangely absent, and most worrying of all, he was unbuttoned. Completely. She, for her part, did not seem to have fared as well in the 'being wrapped up warm' department. Her jeans had been replaced by a pair of shorts (short shorts, he cheerfully noted) and the black blouse she had been wearing last night, had mysteriously morphed into a strappy vest top. Pink, naturally.

As Cameron finally made it to her feet, House was able to part-crawl, part-grapple himself to a sitting position, discreetly fiddling with his buttons as he did so. He managed to retrieve his cane from beneath the table by swinging the empty whisky bottle at it, and upon rising to his feet, deliberated as to what to say next. Judging by the look on her face, she was equally unsure as to how they had ended up so clumsily intertwined. Her expression was two-thirds confusion, one-third annoyance. A jaw line not dissimilar to Desperate Dan's. Bet she grinds her molars down to chalk dust by the end of the day, he chuckled to himself.

'You know a post-coital cigarette or a hurriedly scribbled Post-It on the fridge door is probably what most men do at this point, but sadly, I have to disappoint you and go pee.' He smiled weakly, and shuffled off to the bathroom, observing en route Cameron's clothing from the night before in a heap on the floor, along with his shirt. Stopping to hook his favourite blue shirt (the one that almost made him look nice) up with his cane, he was more than a little embarrassed to find he had also managed to collect a pair of white lacy knickers on the handle. His embarrassment intensified tenfold when he tried to shake the offending article off, unsuccessfully, only to find Cameron beside him, seemingly dumbstruck.

'If you'd wanted to see a pair of my pants, I'd have preferred it if you'd asked first,' she snapped, whipping them off the cane angrily.

'Well, I'll make a note for future reference,' he retorted. 'What are they doing inside my shirt anyway? Should I expect to find your bra in my shoes? Fishnets in my trouser pocket?'

'Ha. Cute. But unlikely. I guess I got changed during the night and put my night clothes on, just discarded my clothes as I went.'

'And mine with them? Dr. Cameron, how could you take advantage of an old, rat-a$$ed cripple like that?' Feigning horror, he put his hand inside the waistband of his jeans and pulled at the top of his boxers. ' Ah, Calvins still in place, guess it was just little ol' you letting it all hang out last night. Huh, you feminists, guess you don't even need to use us for sex nowadays.'

She passed him his belt, which had been laid on the back of the sofa. 'Yours, I believe,' she said as she did so.

Draping it over his arm, he looked her squarely in the eye and said, 'You know, if I get in that bathroom and find strap marks on my butt, your face is gonna be so red when I tell Clarkson how a Princess really behaves. Ha!'

He continued on his way, knowing her face would be glowing behind him, allowing himself the luxury of a wry smile as he entered the bathroom. As he answered the call of nature, he remembered that he had left his car outside Hendersons, and shouted through to Cameron, 'Any chance of calling me a cab?'

'You're a cab,' she hollered back. Pleased that the sarcasm she had absorbed from working with him so closely had finally been put to good use.

He emerged, looking mildly amused. 'See, you're good. You're a regular mini-me. House with breasts. And no knickers.' Delighting in the redness that was deepening on her cheeks, he continued, 'You're in the clear. No visible strap-marks. You may wear the princess mantle with pride a little longer. Until the next time we do this. You know you won't be able to resist. Seriously though, I do need a cab. And looking the way I do, I figure if I go outside to hail one and stand on the kerb too long, someone may take pity on me and start throwing dimes into the flat cap I don't have.'

'I'll call you one right away,' she said wandering over to the phone. 'I have to get ready for work anyway.'

Pausing to allow her to ring for a taxi, he then continued, 'Oh yes, work, that little game we play just to break up the day. You up to it today? I mean, you had quite a skinful last night, as I recall. Why don't you take the day off, we can manage without you. We don't have a lot on.'

Cameron realising she was still holding her underwear aloft, tossed them ashamedly on the couch. 'I will be fine. Anyway, I seem to remember you weren't exactly moderate in your intake either. You want me to take the day off because you can't deal with this- this situation we found ourselves in?'

House was surprised how quickly her tone had changed to that of a defensive one. 'Situation? What? I had one lemonade too many and passed out on your couch. Hell I do that to Wilson at least once a fortnight and I still manage to face him in the office.'

Cameron folded her arms and adopted the stance of one who was offended. 'Well, I also recall, a little more vaguely, admittedly, that you said a lot of things last night. Things you may be uncomfortable in dealing with now that the alcohol isn't freeing your tongue up.'

House struggled to remember exactly what he had said. He knew all the things he'd wanted to say, could even hazard a guess at what he may have said, but it was certainly too early in the day for him to be a hundred percent on the matter. Besides, he knew that Cameron would have read something into the most minor of comments.

' Uncomfortable? Me? You know me, easier to read than a Janet& John book. Talk about anything freely.' The knock on the door interrupted his train of thought briefly. 'Don't believe me, I'll see you at 10. Don't be late.'

'I won't.'

He left the apartment, exhausted, pained and looking like a man who'd fallen on hard times. But unless his imagination was playing tricks on him, he most definitely felt a slight spring in his step and a shiver of excitement down his spine, as he followed the driver down the hallway.


	20. High C

Chapter 20

Disclaimer- They're not mine, but at least if I can't have 'em, neither can anyone else

House's office 9.55am

'Glad to see you made it in on time,' House smirked as he walked towards Cameron, who was replacing a textbook on the shelf. And in stopping to get just a little closer to her, he continued, 'And no longer smelling like a Smirnoff truck just shed it's load on the freeway.'

'You know, good morning would work equally well with me. I don't need your sarcasm fix this early in the day, I have enough already embedded in my brain to tap into if I feel the need.'

Staying a little too close for comfort a while longer, he said softly, 'Glad I have the ability to make you tap into your inner needs. Guess that's why the chicks just dig us older guys.'

Fully aware the effect his immediate proximity had been having on her, he made his way across to his chair, slumping heavily into it. 'So, you wanna talk. Think I can't handle it, huh? Hit me with it, I'm all ears.' Cameron glanced at him, taken aback. 'Well, not all ears obviously. I have a number of other important organs that you might find interesting, but I'm pretty sure ears are what's called for in this situation.'

'You want to talk? House actually wants to have an adult conversation? You may want to refrain from letting that fact become common knowledge, could prove to be your downfall. Actually showing that you have some human traits beneath the hackles.'

'Ha! You're getting better at this banter lark. You're starting to resemble how I imagined the bastard child of Cuddy and I would turn out like. Bitter and twisted but in lingerie and without the bum leg. Nice.' He paused briefly to glance at his mail, before returning his full attention to his female alter-ego. ' So, how's the head? Recovered or still spinning?'

'Head's just fine. Never better,' she lied. 'I can handle myself with the best of them on a night out. You clearly came off worse than I did, at least I made it home.'

'This is true. However, I felt obliged to put my own needs on the back burner last night. You know me, selfless in the extreme. You were in no fit state to make it home unaided, and if you cast your mind back, Dumb and Dumber were too busy waving their handbags at each other to ensure your transport situation was covered. And Clarkson had to play mommy and sort them both out. Which is where I stepped in.'

Cameron immediately adopted her familiar defensive stance. 'Well, thank God you were there! I mean, how on earth would I have managed to call a cab without you!'

'I'm sensing a little pent-up hostility Dr. Cameron. So unlike you. Hey, it's me you're talking to, Uncle Greg. I've seen your panties, how much more intimate do I have to get before you relax in my presence.'

Chase, Clarkson and Foreman, with impeccable timing had walked in just in time to catch the last sentence. 'Don't worry people, she wasn't wearing them at the time. They were in the pile of mutually discarded clothing I almost tripped over this morning, when I finally managed to prise her off of me.'

Cameron reddened initially with embarrassment, quickly followed by a rising sense of indignation. Realising anything she said at this point would actually come out not as she had intended, she bit her lip. She was aware that Clarkson was looking at her searchingly, still relatively unaccustomed to House's innuendo.

'So, Rocky, you and Apollo made up now?'

Foreman, briefly glancing at Chase, turned to House. 'Chase is no Apollo. He look like an undefeated prizefighter to you?'

'Man, I'm a lover, not a fighter,' Chase replied sulkily. 'Which is exactly the point I was trying to prove to Indy before you so rudely stuck your snout in.'

Foreman puffed his chest out. 'Hey, I told you already, frat boy, leave my sister out of it. She's not interested in you. What bit of it don't you get?'

House got up from his seat, and popped his overdue10 o'clock fix. 'Guess that's a no on the making up then. You guys sure know how to let your hair down on a school night, we must do it again sometime. Almost makes up for missing American Idol.'

'Sounds like your night wasn't too shabby either,' Chase snickered, looking at House whilst nodding at Cameron.

'Oh Dr. Chase, you been reading the graffiti in the men's room again? Coulda waited until my ink dried.'

'The graffiti in the ladies is much better,' Chase replied.

Cameron and Foreman exchanged a look of disbelief. 'Ok, I'm betting when your brain finally catches up with your mouth, you'll live to regret saying that,' House said, eyebrows raised.

Cameron began heading towards the other office, bundle of papers clasped firmly to her chest. 'Something we said Dr. Cameron? You know protocol dictates you have to raise your hand if you want to leave class early.'

She turned to face the group. 'I just thought it was high time I tried to restore some level of professional conduct to the department, and return to the business of treating patients.'

'She's just pissed 'cause she didn't get a whole lot of shut-eye last night. What with the neighbours banging on the wall when she hit high C repeatedly around 3am. Huh, some women, never satisfied,' House whispered to his remaining team, as they followed her through into the next room.

As they assumed their familiar positions, House hobbled over to the white board and wiped it clean. 'Anyway, enough of my bedroom prowess, don't want to give Dr. Chase an even bigger inferiority complex than he already has. An elderly cripple pushing all the buttons when the Aussie charmer didn't even get to ride in the elevator.'

'Hey, I'm no slouch in that department,' Chase replied petulantly.

'I'm gonna have to take your word for that, but I'm guessing if your master stroke is to lecherously grab the behind of your work colleague's drunken sister, in the presence of said colleague, then your technique is somewhat lacking in finesse, wouldn't you say?'

Chase looked up sullenly. 'Foreman was cramping my style, making me drink stupid girly drinks. I'm normally a much smoother operator. Never had any complaints before.'

'The fact you never heard from any of these alleged women you've known the following day is proof enough. They don't want a lady-boy who spends more time using their hair straighteners than they do,' Foreman said spitefully.

With that, Foreman's bleeper sounded, followed by Clarkson and Chase's. 'It's the Fry kid,' Foreman said. 'Gotta shoot, this one's touch and go.' As the three of them left, Cameron checked her bleeper to see why it hadn't sounded.

'Ah, divine intervention. You think you can handle being alone with me, Dr. Cameron, now your shipmates have deserted.'

'You know, House, when you said you were going to talk, I didn't exactly envisage the conversation being in front of an audience, and the subject matter being a disclosure of your depraved fantasies.'

'Well, then you really don't know me at all by now, do you?' he said, grinning at her as he did so. 'Come on, after all that attention I lavished on you last night, the least you can do now is buy me a cup of hideously overpriced coffee. I wanna play the next scene in front of a much bigger audience.'


	21. About Last Night

Disclaimer- My heart belongs to Hugh, but regrettably the powers that be won't allow him to belong to me

Cafeteria 10.40am

'How can you drink that?' He stared at the frothy concoction before her.

'What? It's a frappaccino.'

'It's wrong, that's what it is. Coffee should only be drunk hot, black and strong. Allow the caffeine to do its work.'

'So, about last night…'

'Yep, great film. Thought Demi rocked in it. Bet you used to go for Rob Lowe in a big way. He's so your type. Clean cut college boy. Washes behind both ears, never forgets his mom's birthday, remembers your name in the morning.'

'Not the film. Last night, you know, as in real life.'

'Oh, real life. Not a big fan of that. But I'm willing to overlook that minor detail in order to satisfy your need to know.'

'Well, you said a few things….'

'Ok. Tongue still in working order, could prove useful.'

'…and I wanted to know how that affects our situation.'

'We have a situation? As in comedy?'

She frowned, sensing that this was going to be too much like hard work.

'Well, I'm not laughing. I need to know, if what you said was merely the drink talking, or if you actually meant any of it.'

'I'm guessing at this point, I'd be at a distinct advantage if I could actually recall what I supposedly said. However, brain cells die at an alarming rate once you pass 40, and the whisky appears to have sped the process up even further.'

'So you're saying you can't remember what you said last night? Convenient.'

'Actually no. 'Cause I'm assuming this is the part where you take great pleasure in giving me the play by play, only with hearts and flowers thrown in for effect.'

She put her cup down angrily. 'This is a bad idea. How about we just leave this right now as it is. Write it off as a mistake. Obviously if you can't remember what you said to me, I shouldn't continue to beat myself up about not having the faintest idea as to whether I ….' She stopped, not entirely able to say out loud what she was thinking.

House waited, sensing what would come next, but resisting the urge to finish her sentence, wanting to hear her say it for herself. 'Whether you…..'

'Whether I, we……' She looked down, unable to face him. '……did it.'

Perfect, he thought. Just like sharing a cuppa with Wilson. 'DID IT? What are we, in 8th grade? You think being a doctor, you could actually utter the words "have sex", or more probably in your case "made love", without having to rush off to confession and recite five Hail Marys.'

She was still unable to meet his eyes, knowing her face was burning with shame and her eyes would betray her by revealing how she truly felt.

'Hmmm, interesting. So, that's what's been gnawing away at your pretty little head all morning. Not knowing if my remark about you hitting high C actually bore an element of truth.' He smiled, realising the ball had just landed firmly in his court. 'Dr. Cameron, much as I'd like to admit to having gotten to know you in the biblical sense, I cannot lie. It would appear that we did nothing more outrageous than drinking a half-litre of excellent malt without truly savouring it.' He sensed the relief that she was feeling as he continued. 'Besides which, sweetheart, if we had "done it", you would've remembered, even if you'd consumed a vat of the stuff.'

Unsure whether she was relieved, disappointed or a perverse mix of the two, she glanced up at him through the top of her eyes. 'So, that's a no then?'

'You want it in sky-writing? That is a negative, yes.'

'But, I thought, after what you said, and then waking up this morning laid on you, and my underwear was missing and…'

'Hold it right there. You said it yourself earlier. You got up and got changed during the night. You passed out on me presumably because my chest is a damn sight more comfortable than that excuse of a couch you have, and also because you're only human. As for the supposed words of undying love or passion I cast in your direction, I'm afraid I'm all outta answers on that subject. Maybe I could go lay on a different couch and have it sucked out of me in regression therapy, but daren't risk it. Might wake up with the therapist splayed all over me, panties having mysteriously vanished.'

She smiled, and allowed herself to relax slightly.

'You know it's not good for a man's ego to look so pleased when you find out they didn't sleep with you. Asshole I may be, but I don't generally take advantage of incapacitated women in their own home. If however, you'd been at my place, well…who can say. Probably still be there now, keeping Johnson and Johnson in business.'

'Charm comes so naturally to you,' she retorted, glad to have finally found out the truth about the previous evening. 'Would you like me to clarify what you said last night?'

'Oh, clarification is such a beautiful thing. Again, I'm all ears, but I have to tell you, I reserve the right to deny everything, blame it on alcohol-induced Tourette's.'

'Nice try. But I believe Tourette's usually presents as aggressive speech, and that wasn't your style last night. I seem to recall you told me what I needed to know.'

House took a large swig of coffee. 'What? That the tooth fairy doesn't really exist. That the real reason men leave the seat up is purely to annoy women. That we only agree to be dragged round a department store for an hour and a half whilst you pick up every God-forsaken piece of clothing on the rail, before returning to purchase the first thing you looked at, is 'cause we think you're gonna make it up to us when we get you home.'

'Erm….no, but thanks for that anyway. I was referring more to the fact that you told me that you liked me.'

House replied a little too quickly. 'Hell, I like chilli dogs, doesn't mean I want to pledge undying love to one.' He stared at her face, her nose starting to redden, eyes beginning to look watery. 'I didn't pledge undying anything to you, did I?'

'No, you didn't.' She bit her lip, forcing the tears to stay firmly where they belonged, inside her eyelids. 'I believe last night, House, you actually allowed yourself to drop the act, albeit briefly and through excessive alcohol consumption. Regardless, you definitely showed me another side, one I knew you were hiding all along. And I think it's a side you should show a little more often, if only to me.'

He intensified his gaze. 'And you got all this from "I like you"? Thank the Lord I never said the proper 'L' word. Can't have my favourite duckling skipping off to Tiffanys on a whim, and hitting me with the bill afterwards.' He was becoming increasingly aware that her emotions were bubbling just below the surface, and not wishing to be confronted with the outpouring when it came, he decided to change tack. 'Listen, now's not the time or the place. If this is something you still feel needs addressing, we can deal with it some other time. Ok?'

Unable to find her voice, she grunted and left the table hurriedly. Tears pricking at her eyes, she departed so quickly, House barely had time to register her response. Of course he knew she was telling the truth when she said he had admitted to liking her. He didn't remember actually saying it, but it was how he actually felt, and the drink had loosened his inhibitions, so it was entirely possible the words had slipped out. He also knew he had said far more, but struggle as he might, he couldn't retrieve the memory from his addled brain.


	22. Dirty Dancing

Disclaimer- Mr. Shore, please let me have them. Just for a while. I'll give 'em back, honest.

Friday 11.58am Cafeteria

House sat lazily flicking through a report on the Fry case. He had decided to lay in wait for Wilson, who as a perennial creature of habit, would soon make his routine appearance at noon. Such a stickler. A little under forty-eight hours had passed since his tense lunchtime rendezvous with Cameron, at the very same table.

She had kept her distance ever since, only engaging in conversation with him in the presence of others and never regarding anything other than work. He had tamed his snarkiness somewhat, she had been less than forthcoming on offering up any sort of opinions on whatever medical topic was under discussion. The other three had picked up on the marked downturn in atmosphere and had seemed edgy, keen to keep their heads down as much as possible and scamper eagerly out the door as soon as the clock hit five-thirty.

True to form, Wilson appeared, placing his full tray down alongside House's empty one. House ran an inquisitive eye over its contents.

'Oh goody, tuna sandwiches again. Cup of tea. Health food bar. Whoa, I bet your adrenaline levels are soaring right now. What with this exciting rock 'n' roll diet of yours.'

'Well, it just didn't feel right to bring vodka jelly and a carton of Marlboro to the table. But hey, if it makes you happy, I'll bear it in mind for Monday.'

House smiled. 'You still on for later?'

Wilson, heartily tucking into his sandwich, looked up. 'Naturally. How could I miss the tempting prospect of another liquor-sodden evening in a smoky, overpriced bar with you running your 'end of the world is nigh' speech past me for the umpteenth time.'

'Well, you know me, just keeping it real.' House followed the direction of Wilson's gaze, alighting on a petite blonde woman, who was grinning eagerly back at him. 'And she would be…?'

Wilson felt himself blush, and looked back down at his lunch. 'Her name is Kristi, she's a dental assistant and she brought her cousin in for a routine check up about thirty minutes ago.'

'You got all that from the grin she just gave you? You're good!' He paused. 'Did you have it specially written into your vows that you would continue to spread the Wilson-love far and wide after your marriage? What extra-marital rights did Julie have factored in?'

'I am merely being friendly,' Wilson replied. 'Smiling is a good thing, House. As is being nice to someone. You could try it, see how it feels. Start off with a little baby-step, you know, just muster up a semi-smile Then crank it up a gear and try saying something that isn't derisory and before you know it, you can play with the grown ups and attempt a compliment. Careful, there'll be no looking back once you have made that transition.'

'Smiling's overrated. And nice is not a word I choose to include in my vocabulary. There is also a difference between exchanging social pleasantries and leering at impressionable young women, mentally rating them on the Wilson-scale of do-ableness.'

'I was not rating her. I was simply acknowledging a thing of beauty in the same way you cannot walk past a bike shop without dribbling.'

'Duh. You got me. Nailed the flaw in my argument with your rapier-like insight.'

House's attention was briefly diverted when he saw Cameron appear in the queue, alongside Dr. Clarkson. Laughing about something, he noted. Ha! Clearly over her little crush on me, moved on. Phew, lucky escape. Wilson, aware that House was distracted followed his line of vision.

'Oh hell. Johnny still loves Baby. Baby has her eye on Robbie. I know how this one's going to turn out.'

'Ok. Is that statement supposed to mean something to me? And who am I in that ridiculous metaphor? Please tell me I'm not Baby.'

Wilson rolled his eyes. 'No, you are not Baby. And I'm pretty sure Johnny would leave you for dead on the dance floor. Haven't you two sorted things out yet?'

House, still focusing his attention on the queue, replied, 'Nothing to sort out. Water under the bridge. She had an itch that needed scratching. Guess my nails weren't long enough.'

'Denial. So very you! OK, fine, have it your way.' Seeing Cameron and Clarkson making their way out of the queue, Wilson loudly called her name.

'What are you doing?' House snarled.

'Water under the bridge, you just said. You won't mind me calling them over to join us will you?'

Cameron, startled by the sudden bellowing of her name from an unseen presence, spun her head round sharply, and saw Wilson and House sat in their usual window seat. Wilson was beaming at her and making wild hand signals, House appeared to be trying to lower his upper body into a full tuck diving position. She contemplated ignoring the call by pretending she had an imaginary child tugging on the back of her skirt, but Clarkson was carrying their tray, and had already made a bee-line in that direction. Left with no option if she wanted to eat her lunch, she wearily followed his lead.

Wilson gestured to Clarkson to join them, pulling out the chair next to him and patting it eagerly. Clarkson obliged by putting his tray down and making himself comfortable, as Cameron reluctantly took the other seat, directly between House and Wilson. As Clarkson placed her Caesar salad and mineral water in front of her, she turned to Wilson.

'Dr. Wilson, you needed me for something?'

'I need a favour. Julie's sister is coming to town this afternoon, she's staying with us for a few days. Trouble is Julie just called to say she has to work late this evening unexpectedly and she doesn't want Sarah to be alone in a strange city. I just wondered if you weren't doing anything, if you'd be able to keep her company. You know, just settle her in. That's if you haven't already got plans.'

Cameron was caught off guard. She didn't have any plans. In fact she couldn't remember the last time she had any plans to speak of on a Friday night. But she wasn't keen to admit that fact in front of House, even though the chances of him hearing it were slim as he had all but turned his back on her and appeared to be showing an unhealthy level of interest in the back of Dr. Munro's head on the next table.

'Well, I, erm…'

'I know it's short notice, but I only got the call twenty minutes ago. And I know you'd get on really well with her. I'd be really grateful.'

Unable to resist the fact that Wilson was doing his utmost to widen his eyes to the size of saucers, she hesitantly agreed.

'Great. You ok to get over to ours or did you want me to come get you?'

House sighed heavily. How did Wilson do it? What mystical power did he possess that women never refused his requests, no matter how off the wall? Maybe he brought out their maternal instincts or perhaps it was the length of time he spent with terminally ill people, all that sentimentality that had rubbed off on him, that the ladies found so attractive.

Cameron considered her options thoughtfully. 'Actually if it's no bother, it might be better if you could pick me up from mine. It's just by the time I get back from the gym, it might be cutting it fine for me to get across town to you.'

House stared harder at the back of Munro's head. Normally he would have used the opportunity of such a rare and uninterrupted view of his much older colleagues follicles, to ascertain the truth behind the commonly held belief that Munro wore a hairpiece. However, House was far too busy trying to block the mental image which had suddenly whipped into his mind, that of Cameron in her Lycra on a treadmill. Oh hell, he thought, I'm regressing to adolescence. Enough, pull it together.

He turned to face her, surprised to find her face inches from his, staring intently at the top of his head. 'You know this fanatical desire for exercise you have is merely a diversionary tactic, it's masking unresolved issues.'

'Gee thanks Sigmund. I didn't know the Caesar came with a side helping of psychoanalysis. Next time, maybe I'll order the quarter pounder and fries.'

House gave her a withering smile as he slowly rose from his chair. 'People to see, places to go,' he muttered as he cast an equally dismissive glance at Wilson. 'I'll catch up with you later, Doc, ' he said, nodding at his friend. 'That is if you can bear to tear yourself away from Dr. Cameron in her leotard and come out to play with ol' Limpy here.' Cameron rubbed her head in frustration as she watched House shuffle off in the direction of the elevators, wondering what would happen next. What rabbit she had to pull out of the hat to make him finally admit to the feelings she believed he had for her, before the minute spark they had ignited was extinguished by his unrelenting obstinacy once and for all.


	23. Falling

Disclaimer- If he was mine, and according to the dream I had last night, he most definitely was, this is how I would have liked our defining moment to have panned out.

Wilson's car, outside Cameron's apartment 7.40pm

House rapped his fingers against the windowpane impatiently. Distinctly having had his nose put out of joint by Wilson insisting that Mr. Grouchy Hop-along sit in the back, due to Sarah getting nauseous if she didn't ride in the front passenger seat, he was most definitely not in the mood to be hanging around waiting for Cameron to finish primping and preening herself. His mood was aggravated further still by the fact it was Wilson's car and therefore Jimmy Boy had full control over the choice of music that was playing. And Wilson's taste in music, pretty much as it was with women, was indiscriminate and bland beyond belief. Hence House's ears were currently being assaulted by what House perceived to be a gaggle of chipmunks on speed, but was sullenly informed by Wilson that it was in fact the latest release from Jessica Simpson. No relation to Bart, James had added hastily.

To be honest, House was semi-relieved that Wilson had put something on the stereo, having spent far too long listening to the inane ramblings of Julie's sister. A pleasant enough woman, sure, but completely unable to talk about anything meaningful or remotely interesting to House, and her shrill tone, so similar to Julie's, was grating. As he pondered Wilson's poor judgement in spouses, he spotted Cameron making her way out of the front door. Pleased that at last the show could finally get on the road, that he would soon be able to unwind with a drink or two at his favourite haunt, he suddenly felt his relatively upbeat mood shift to one of frustration and barely repressed annoyance.

He was mad at himself for allowing his heart to miss a beat when he saw her come skipping down the steps, dressed in a little cream dress and baby blue feather wrap. He wasn't accustomed to feeling such…what was it? Desire? Lust? Passion? Well, yes he was, but he was pretty sure his fantasies about Carmen Electra and Jennifer Morrison didn't compare. He was not given the opportunity to reflect on such matters for long, as events began to take a vaudevillian turn when Allison opened the car door. As she clambered into the car, Cameron lost her balance and ended up draped across his rigid being, one palm jammed firmly against the windowpane, the other hand digging into his good thigh. His arms pinned down by her prone form, he struggled somewhat to remove the marabou wrap from his mouth, the plumage impertinently tickling his nostrils. Struggling to regain her composure, and aware one of her Jimmy Choos was dangling off her big toe, she only served further to worsen his plight when she removed her hand from the glass and slumped face down in his lap, her left elbow jabbing him firmly in his most delicate region as she did so.

House bucked violently, relieved that he hadn't planned on procreating any time soon. His head spinning with the searing pain she had unintentionally wrought upon him. The sudden movement from him threw her backwards, rolling her over onto her back, her right arm hitting the back of Sarah's seat, her left arm trapped beneath her winded frame on the painfully throbbing area she had inflicted upon him. Throbbing for all the wrong reasons, House thought, as he desperately sucked in as much air as he could, as he felt his stomach rise to his mouth.

Wilson, until now unable to assist, having been rendered incapable through laughing so much, tried in vain to restore some order by adjusting the handle on the side of Sarah's seat, move it forward and allow the odd couple a little more room. Not his wisest move, as the sudden shift in the leather caused Cameron's hand to lose its grip, as House simultaneously stretched his leg and she rolled down his shins and onto the floor.

House released a huge sigh as his thighs were freed from their restraint, and hastily grabbed his Vicodin from his jacket pocket knocking two back greedily. Only then did he lean forward to attempt to help Cameron, still scrabbling in the dark for her now seemingly absent shoe. As she scrambled onto the back seat and House fished the aqua sling back from beneath Wilson's chair with the handle of his cane, she was unsure whether to laugh or cry. Her undignified entrance, the fact that the neat chignon she had styled her tresses into was unkempt and looked like a suitable home for a flock of baby sparrows, House's obvious discomfort in the region just south of his belt and the taste of lipstick on her top two teeth, signifying that she probably also had it smeared a la Courtney Love all around her mouth, was more than enough reason she thought, to make a swift exit from the car, and apologise on her need to take an unplanned rain check. Quick, think of what to say, she panicked, as Wilson pulled away from the kerb.

Understandably she was more than a little surprised when she felt a hand on her right knee. House's hand. And as she turned her head to face him, her embarrassment slipped away instantly as his eyes offered the reassurance she needed, and he whispered softly, 'Bet you're a blast at a drive-in.'

The rest of the journey to the bar passed uneventfully, the ice having been not so much broken, as shattered, by Cameron's slapstick routine fifteen minutes previously. The plan had been for Wilson to drop the ladies at Henderson's, leaving himself and House free to continue on to Harry's Bar and quaff a few cold ones, before returning to collect Cameron and Sarah on the way back through. So Wilson was slightly taken aback by House's suggestion that all four of them just go straight to the boys preferred venue. House choosing to extend the length of the women's presence voluntarily? Guess the knock he took to his crown jewels affected his senses too, he thought, as he acknowledged the request, and took the next left at the lights.

House's impromptu request was the result of an exchange that neither of the occupants in the front had picked up on, an exchange that James would never have believed unless he'd heard it with his own ears, and one that frankly even House had to pinch himself over, to ensure he wasn't having a Vicodin-induced hallucination. As House had removed his hand from Cameron's knee, and readjusted his position to allow a more respectful distance to form between them, Cameron had leaned heavily into him, removed a stray blue feather from the three-day growth on his cheek, and whispered gently in his ear. Something he recalled, along the lines of 'How about you let me buy you a drink by way of apology. For almost turning you into a eunuch.'

And as she had pulled away from his ear, but not so far away that he hadn't still felt her warm breath against the side of his face, she had placed her tiny hand onto his chest, right in the centre, as if to put him at ease with what she clearly knew was an uncomfortable situation on his part, unaccustomed as he was to physical contact and the fleeting intimacy that she had felt burn between them.


	24. The Hustler

Disclaimer- Santa, I've been a very good girl, please send 'em down my chimney I'll take good care of him. I mean a House is for life, not just for Christmas right?

A/N- To all of you that have read, reviewed and stuck with me, I thank you from the bottom of my fluffy pink comforter. I hope I am keeping the team in character as much as possible, not being overly sentimental and bringing the odd smirk to peoples faces every now and then. Chapter 24 is not how I wanted it to turn out, but sometimes a filler chapter is necessary and it definitely isn't one of my strongest. Apologies. As my teachers used to put on my school reports (many, many years ago, when people still wrote with quills and ink) must try harder next time. Tina 

Chapter 24

Harry's Bar 8.32pm

Determined that tonight was one night she was not going to screw up by getting loaded, Cameron slowly sipped her Coke. House and Wilson had been playing pool for the last fifteen minutes, leaving her alone with Sarah. A really nice woman, Cameron thought, as she awaited her new found gal-pal's return from the bathroom. Cameron hadn't found out much about her other than she was 28, working in medical research for a prestigious lab in Kansas and was in the process of divorcing her husband of two years. Cameron being Cameron, she had also managed to wean out of her that she had just found out she was pregnant, a fact which made Cameron warm to her even more.

Casting her mind back to the scene she had played out an hour before in the back of Wilson's car, she felt her stomach do a little somersault. Had she gone too far? Had she blown any chance, however slight, of her making any in-roads with House? No, surely not. She had only whispered in his ear and touched his chest. That very thought alone made her squirm slightly in her seat. Allison, what were you thinking you donut! The whole fiasco of her stumbling into the car, elbowing House in his whatnots and her ending up both on his lap and the floor, had clearly made her act a little out of character. Partly through embarrassment and partly because she figured she had nothing left to lose in the making a complete arse of herself stakes. Besides, he could have ignored her request to join her and Sarah for a few drinks, could have laughed out loud or made a glib remark. But he hadn't. Instead, he'd simply instructed Wilson of a change of plan, and they'd wound up here, where he was now looking the most relaxed she'd seen him in ages, possibly since the night of the monster trucks rally, and she was feeling slightly relieved but hopelessly nervous, unsure of which card to play next. As she considered the options open to her, Sarah arrived back with a tray holding a further two Cokes for her and Cameron, and two bottles of Bud Light for the boys.

'I just spoke to the guys on the way back, they're going to finish this game and then rejoin us,' she said matter of factly as she squeezed past Cameron and back into her chair. 'They look like they're having fun, although Greg doesn't appear to be taking his imminent defeat particularly well.'

Cameron turned her head slightly, just in time to see House thump his cue down on the table, growl at a passing waitress and prod Wilson with his cane.

'He's not a good loser, that much is true,' Cameron replied, laughing at the squabbling she could hear behind her, as House disputed Wilson's last shot. 'If Wilson had any sense he'd throw the game and let House win, it would make for a quieter life.' As she sipped her fresh Coke, this one containing a pink sparkly parasol, courtesy of House's intervention as Sarah had stood at the bar ordering, she turned back to face her new friend. 'So, you've come all this way to tell Julie about the baby, huh? Long-distance didn't seem easier?'

Sarah smiled. 'Well, I had planned on taking a trip out this way a little while back, but what with all the divorce business, I couldn't get away sooner. It's been about a year since I last saw Julie, and I thought it was the perfect opportunity, what with my news and all, to come visit.'

'So she has no idea?'

'Nope, and she loves surprises, so I can't wait to tell her. It won't be until tomorrow though. After the long day she's having today, I'd rather save it until the morning. She's going to be so shocked.'

'Let it go, the better man won,' Wilson said to House, as the two of them returned to the table. 'You can't win at everything. As an only child you may have been used to getting your own way, but it doesn't work with me.'

House scowled angrily at him. 'I get my own way because I'm right. Always. And you moved the cue ball whilst I wasn't looking.'

'I did not.'

'You did!'

'Not.'

'Did too!'

Realising they were providing an unintentionally amusing sideshow for the ladies, Wilson and House both grinned at each other. Before House quickly reverted to scowling. 'You won't win the next one.'

'How much you wanna lay on it?' Wilson asked.

'Fifty.'

'Like taking candy from a baby. But don't come crying when I show you up in front of everybody. Just because you've watched The Hustler a few times, it isn't a given you'll become the next Fast Eddie.'

'Ha!' House swigged a large mouthful of beer and rested his cane against the table.

'Really! Why don't you just revert to type and try and outstare the beer-mat.'

Cameron and Sarah sat watching the amusing exchange, both with a wry smile on their faces.

'James said you like to play the piano,' Sarah said, thinking that a diversion from the sore subject of pool-shooting superiority wouldn't go amiss.

House, unaccustomed to being the subject of such direct scrutiny, began picking at the label on his half-empty bottle. 'A little, every now and then. Helps pass the time.'

'I wouldn't have thought you had a lot of time on your hands, doctors like you and James must have a huge caseload. Julie says James is always getting caught working late at the hospital.'

Wilson averted his gaze, suddenly feeling the urge to mirror House's label peeling antics. Knowing that House was fully aware75 per cent of his urgent phone calls home to tell Julie not to wait up due to a pressing medical emergency were in fact a result of him having struck gold in his pursuit of all things of the female persuasion. House swiftly replied, 'Oh you know, Jimmy is a busy boy. His bedside manner is in much greater demand than mine.'

Wilson relieved, but not completely home and dry just yet, shifted uncomfortably and began taking larger gulps of beer. Grateful that his mobile went off at the most opportune moment possible. On finishing the brief call, he looked at House. 'Julie. I'm afraid I'm going to have to take a rain check on collecting my fifty. Her car's broken down on Calhoun Street, I'm going to have to go pick her up.'

'No problem. I can get a cab.' Wilson looked apologetically at him, knowing that to drop House and Cameron home would add an extra forty minutes on to his journey time, and keeping Julie waiting, especially as her time with her sister was limited already, was probably not a good move. And besides, he had spent enough nights on the couch to keep him going for some time.

'Seriously, it's not a problem. Go.' House was mindful of the fact Sarah was present, therefore preventing him telling what he really thought of Julie. That she had probably deliberately let the gas run low so that she could snap her bony little fingers and get her lapdog come running. 'Cameron can pay, might even get a discount on the fare if she repeats her earlier performance. Driver will think she's a whack job on the run from the local institution.'

Wilson reluctantly zipped his jacket and moved Sarah's chair out of the way so she could get her purse from off the floor. 'I'll see you Monday. We'll let the prize money ride until next weekend. I can wait till then to collect my winnings, with interest on top.'

'Huh. You think?' House tipped his almost empty bottle in a salutary fashion at him, and again at Sarah, who had just finished hugging Cameron goodbye.

Watching them leave the bar, House turned his brilliant gaze on the slightly subdued Cameron. 'What you wishing her luck for? Think she'll need it to get through 48 hours with Homer and Marge? Or is it because you've warned her that your crocheting technique is a little rusty?'

'How did you….? No. I mean…'

'It may have escaped your attention but it has been rumoured that I am indeed a fully paid up member of the medical profession. She's drinking soft drinks, holding her stomach, changing the subject every time Wilson went within 30 yards of her and you've been grinning dumbly for the last hour. I hardly think her humour was what had you flashing your incisors.'

'She's nice. Sweet.'

'And is also genetically linked to Morticia Wilson. Not good. Scary in fact.'

Cameron looked directly into his eyes. 'What exactly do you have against Julie?'

'Nothing that a harpoon wouldn't take care of. She's manipulative, demanding and has a third nipple.'

Cameron's jaw dropped.

'Ok, I made the last one up. But I wouldn't rule the idea out altogether.'

'Unbelievable. Do you have anything nice to say about anybody?'

'I like me. Ditto Cameron Diaz. I personally think there's a lot to be said for Julia Roberts, apart from that time she decided to strike a blow for feminists everywhere and cultivate pit hair.' House looked at her questioningly. 'So… you wanna split the cab fare with me?'

'Now?'

'Well, it's not a school night, I guess we could stay up a little later if you've finished your homework. I was just eager to see what comedy routine you had lined up for the journey home.'

Cameron blushed. 'It wasn't my fault. The shoes are new, I'm not used to slingbacks.'

'Yeah, I have the same problem whenever I wear them.'

She smiled. 'Now that I'd love to see. How many pairs do you own?'

House grinned. 'Peep toed or fully enclosed? Low-heeled or stiletto? I'll have to check and get back to you on it. But it's a little more than five and a slightly less than Imelda Marcos's collection.'

'Ha!' Cameron paused. 'You know, I am grateful you changed your plans and came here tonight. It's been fun.'

'I'm a real fun guy, and by that I don't mean I'm a mushroom. Besides, I didn't have much choice. Given you'd almost castrated me thirty seconds before, I didn't like to refuse. You might have karate-chopped me in the solar plexus if I'd said no.'

'Wise move. We should do it more often.'

House grimaced. 'What, elbowing me in my testicles is something you derive pleasure from? Sick. You've been hanging around that pervy pain-lover Chase too long.'

Cameron rolled her eyes. 'You know what I meant. I'm going to the bathroom, you can call the cab. I promise I won't inflict any more pain and suffering on you tonight.'

As she walked off, House reflected on her closing statement. He wasn't too sure that she was right. She'd been the cause of much of his pain and suffering for the last eighteen months. And he was certain that it wasn't about to abate any time soon.


	25. All The Way

Disclaimer- He's mine. It's official. Honestly. I have him shackled to the bed. The keys been thrown away. But don't tell anyone. What do you mean the men in white coats are coming to get me?

Chapter 25- All The Way

Taxicab 9.45pm

'See, I'm not a total klutz,' Cameron said on successfully making it onto the back seat of the cab without so much as a suggestion of a slip, trip or nosedive.

'The night is young. You still have to get out of the car. I'll reserve judgement till then.'

'Fine. You do that.'

Having established that it made more sense for her to be dropped home first, Cameron instructed the driver of their respective destinations. And flopped back in the seat, accidentally whipping House with her feather wrap as she did so.

'I'm gonna burn that if I ever actually get my hands on it. What is it? Does it serve a purpose or did some poor ostrich get plucked to within an inch of its life purely to adorn your décolletage and irritate my nose.'

'Actually it's synthetic. So no bird is running around butt naked because of me.'

'I still say burn it. Or give it to Chase. I hear feather boas go down a storm in fetish clubs.'

Cameron laughed out loud. 'He doesn't go to them anymore, it was only something his ex-girlfriend was into.'

House sneered. 'Right. Like he doesn't have a pair of PVC hot pants and knee-high kinky boots in his closet.'

'You'd love to see him in that get-up wouldn't you? '

'Prefer to see it on you.' House flinched, realising his flippant retort hadn't come out quite as he'd intended it to.

'Well, I normally only dig it out for weddings and Bar Mitzvahs, but I could always make an exception for you.'

Hmm, House thought. I got away with it, just. But he realised he was in way too deep with the banter, so much so that even he was taken aback by his next slip of the tongue. 'Well it beats the hell out of inviting me in for a cup of coffee.'

With fortuitous timing, the driver pulled up outside Cameron's home. 'Coffee I have. Cat Woman costume I don't. It's at the dry cleaners. But you're welcome to come in for the former.' She paused, then said dismissively, 'I mean, you don't have to.'

House felt himself lost for words, still wrestling with the image of Cameron in skin-tight PVC. Resulting him in blurting out, 'Sure. Why not?' before he had time to collect his thoughts.

After handing the driver a $20 bill, he followed Cameron up her front steps. Seemingly bored by the brief hold-up whilst she rifled through her purse for the overtly girly key fob, he pressed all 6 buzzers with the tip of his cane.

'What are you doing?'

'Playing.'

'Well don't. I have to live here, I don't want my neighbours thinking I've befriended the local village idiot.'

'Hey! I resent that. Moron yes, idiot no. You know you almost hurt my feelings then.'

'Yeah right!' Cameron unlocked the outer door and deliberately let it go, House prodding it open angrily with his cane. As they made their way up the three flights of stairs, he expressed his annoyance with the lack of any elevators, by running his cane noisily back and forth over the metal stair railings. Cameron turned her head back to face him.

'Will you stop it! It's juvenile and not helpful.'

'That's me summed up nicely. Hey, I'm a cripple, I have issues. I'm allowed to behave irresponsibly and I'm also allowed to get away with it. I know my rights.'

'Shame you don't pay as much heed to your wrongs.' On reaching the apartment door, and slipping the key into the lock she continued, 'Now, are you going to behave yourself?'

House, leaning on his cane wearily, visibly tired by the long hike upstairs, raised his eyebrows. 'Well, I'll try but if I find out you lied to me about the fetish wear, I may not be able to help myself.'

'You're impossible.'

He followed her through the door, keen to check out the apartment more fully than he had been able to on his last visit. He curled his top lip up at the treadmill, a reminder that there were some things in life he would never be able to do. The smell of vanilla still hung heavy in the air. Pastel suede cushions in an orderly formation on the sofa, they hadn't been there the other night. Thankfully. Something else to join the damned wrap on the bonfire, along with all things feathery, fluffy, silky, sparkly or pretty. Other than that, the living room was pretty standard. Neutral, inoffensive. Cameron having disappeared, hopefully to scan the closet, House thought, but much more likely to be found in the kitchen filling the kettle, he made his way towards the full bookcase behind the sofa. He ran a discerning eye over the titles, alphabetically arranged he noted. Medical textbooks. A few airport trash novels, alongside a cluster of self-help books. Hemingway, Sylvia Plath, a leather bound collection of Jane Austen, a compendium of Keats (knew I was on the money with that one, he thought to himself) and numerous dog-eared, cracked spine Nancy Drew paperbacks.

'You're welcome to borrow anything you fancy,' Cameron chirped, having returned with two over-sized mugs of coffee.

'Thought you'd never offer. Swap you two Hardy Boys for one Nancy Drew. I have the whole set at home.'

Cameron perked up. 'Really?'

'Errrr…no. Because I'm no longer thirteen.' He slumped down heavily onto the sofa.

'Can you ever be serious?' Cameron said, annoyed that she'd fallen for his snark-bait yet again.

Burning his top lip slightly, having impatiently made a start on his coffee, he frowned at her, as though she had deliberately made the water hotter than a normal kettle would be able to. 'Hell, I'm as strait-laced and deadpan as a nun in brothel. More so.'

Cameron blinked rapidly, as if to erase the sacrilegious image from her mind. 'Charming!'

'Yep, I'm that too.' He fumbled inside his pocket, hoping he hadn't left his pills at the bar. Relieved to have found them he knocked one back. 'Sorry, am I boring you?'

Cameron had made her way over to the stereo, her back to him. 'No more than usual. I just wanted to put a CD on, I like to unwind by listening to music.'

'Unwind? I didn't even know you were wound up. And I'm willing to bet you own nothing on that rack that could even loosely be classified as music. Bubblegum for the ears yes, proper music no.'

'I'm officially ignoring you. So save your breath.' She flicked through a handful of CD's, before finally opting for Frank Sinatra. Personally she would have chosen Kelly Clarkson, but didn't want to prove him right in his assumption.

As the opening bars of 'Fly Me To The Moon' sounded, House appeared shocked. Sinatra? Cameron? What had she put in the coffee? This SO wasn't her style. 'Please tell me this isn't a Backstreet Boys cover.'

Cameron laughed. 'Sorry. I lent that one to Cuddy!' She looked at his dumbfounded expression. 'What makes you think I'm such a philistine when it comes to music? Just because I like pink and glitter doesn't mean I can't appreciate the finer things in life.'

House was too busy enjoying the music, tapping his fingers in time on the arm of the sofa to really give her comment much consideration. 'Favourite track? Of Sinatra's.'

Without a moment's notice she replied, 'All The Way.'

Which threw House completely, his balance on the perch already compromised from her surprising choice of CD. All The Way was his favourite too. And not just Sinatra, it was a song that he had rated as being the finest by a long way for more years than he cared to recall.

Cameron sat down next to him on the sofa, picking her mug up from the table before doing so. Feeling his gaze firmly planted on her, and unsure as to why, she turned to him. 'What?'

'Nothing.'

'You're staring.'

'I'm not.'

'You are.'

'Not.'

'Right.'

He continued to stare, as the next track kicked in. I Get A Kick Out Of You. Nice. Very apt. "I get no kick from champagne, mere alcohol doesn't thrill me at all. So why should it be true, that I get a kick out of you." Oh crap, he thought. Did she plan this? How do women manage it? Sucking you into their web through the medium of music. Snap out of it Greg. At once. But still he found his full attention was focused on her, absorbing the lyrics and her wistful expression simultaneously.

His already weakened state was enhanced further by the fact that track three was their mutual favourite. Oh holy crap. He could feel it washing over him. The headiness he had felt for her so many times previously- when she'd stared into his eyes with her ever-present righteous determination- when she'd brushed past him casually in the lab, unaware of the effect a mere swish of starched lab coat against his thigh could have on him- when she'd looked forlornly at him after his double-whopper with cheese lie about him not liking her, her shoulders drooping before his very eyes before she'd wandered aimlessly away from him down the corridor. As the lyrics unfolded, he felt himself sinking into the second verse. With velvety tones heavy in his ears, it happened. Just like that. Kissed her. Unplanned. Spontaneously. Roughly.

And if that wasn't enough to shake him to his very core, even more alarmingly, he wasn't met with resistance. In fact, Cameron's response was as far from resistance as was humanly possible. Perhaps, as a result, he didn't pull away as quickly as he should have. And when he did, jolted back to reality by Frankie belting out That's Life as though his life depended on it, he was thrown. Completely. Emotions, too varied and diverse for his overloaded brain to process. He saw her startled expression, her smudged lipstick confirmation that he hadn't just imagined the last thirty seconds. Leaving him with no choice to make a hasty (ish) escape to the bathroom. Foot and cane tripping over one another in his urgency. Closing the door and leaning back against it heavily, he closed his eyes and prayed.


	26. Chasing Rabbits

Chapter 26- Chasing Rabbits

Cameron's apartment 10.45pm

Five minutes had elapsed. House was still propping the bathroom door up. Eyes were still closed. Opened only once to make sure he was awake, then firmly snapped shut again. What to do? Couldn't stay in here for ever. Couldn't face going back out into the surreal scenario he had just played a part in creating. Surreal but oh so very pleasant for that brief moment. When he'd allowed himself to stop thinking and start feeling. Well, hadn't allowed it as such, it hadn't been a conscious decision. Just testosterone, Vicodin and Frankie-boy making him act irrationally and now, the music muted, Vicodin wearing off rapidly and testosterone supplanted by adrenaline, he was at a loss as to how he was supposed to feel. Think. Act.

He sat on the stool alongside the bath, oblivious to the satin robe and slip already lying there. Oblivious until he felt himself sliding sharply off and landing unceremoniously on his backside. With a thud, cane sent flying, head under the basin. Alerted by the noise (having had her ear firmly glued to the door ever since he'd swiftly abandoned her) and the trail of expletives that emanated from within, Cameron pushed the door open. And burst out laughing. The sight of House laid on her bathroom floor with a cream satin negligee entangling him was too much.

'What? It's not funny!'

'Actually it's not. It's hilarious.' She stooped to help him up.

'I can manage,' he said gruffly, drawing his knees up and turning himself around to a kneeling position. Using the edge of the tub for leverage, he clawed his way back to an upright state, pausing halfway to retrieve his cane. 'You always lay traps in your bathroom?'

'No, normally the bedroom.' She laughed. 'How was I supposed to know you'd shut yourself in here and sit on my nightwear.'

He glared at her, before hooking the cause of his fall from grace up with the handle of his stick. 'Nice. But not what I figured you'd wear. Had you down as more of a shorts and vest kind of girl. Anyone'd think I'd seen you in your PJ's before. Oh that's right, I have. When we acted out scene one of this comedy of errors. Were you expecting a little action tonight leaving this out on display? Or is it left over from some R-rated shenanigans last night? Gotta tell you, it works for me either way. Works even better if you tell me you'd left it out expecting to hit it off with Sarah tonight.'

She snatched the robe and slip from him. 'Pick your mind back up out of the gutter House. I was not expecting anything of the sort, as well you know. I don't have to explain to you why I leave MY bedroom attire in MY bathroom. Ok?'

'Ok….you're funny when you're embarrassed. Makes you get a little crinkle in your brow. Cute.'

Cameron tried rectifying the crinkle that she never knew she had, as her anger began to rise. 'Well, maybe so, but at least I don't run and hide when I'm embarrassed. What did you plan on doing? Sneaking out the window? Unfortunately for you there isn't one in here. Nowhere to run huh?' She turned her back and stormed out.

House, looked round to confirm the window situation. Definitely worth knowing for any potential future reoccurrences. He shambled out of the bathroom after her. Cameron was in the kitchen, randomly shuffling pots and pans loudly, without rhyme or reason. Sinatra replaced by Alanis Morissette. Oh hell, she's really pissed, she's got man-hater music on. The battle lines are drawn. Great. Well played Greg, only you get to go straight from a kiss to imminent castration with a bread knife in under ten minutes.

'I suppose this is where I get you to call me a cab.'

'If you want,' Cameron replied without looking at him, finding stainless steel implements more of her attention. 'Your call.'

'Hmm. Guess that's a yes then.' He paused, trying to read any sort of emotion she may be displaying other than anger. Hard to tell from the back of her head, he thought. He took a couple of steps forward to try and catch a glimpse of her face. 'I don't normally say sorry. In fact I don't think I've ever said it. So consider yourself honoured. But I am. Sorry, that is.'

Cameron spun around, frying pan in hand, causing him to take a step back. 'For what? For kissing me? For running away? For suggesting I have a penchant for women? What?'

'Ok, you're mad. I get it. Quit yelling. It only makes me want to laugh.' He looked intently at her. 'For causing you distress, it wasn't my intention. Hard to believe I know, given the fact that I do get off on causing emotional turmoil in people as a rule, but with you it's no fun. Like stepping on a puppy's tail, just makes you sad.'

'I'm a puppy?'

'That was the analogy I was making, yes.'

'What kind?'

'Sorry?'

'What kind? Of puppy?'

House was surprised at her response. 'It makes a difference?' She increased her glare. 'Oh, the wild look in your eyes suggests it does. Chocolate labrador.'

'Because?'

'What is this? Twenty questions?'

'Humour me. Why am I a chocolate Labrador?'

House opened the fridge, buying himself a few extra moments to formulate a reply. And as he grabbed himself a beer, he answered, 'Because you scamper along, bounding about, frantically waving your tail in a "love me, love me" manner. You crash into things, 'cause your mind isn't focused on the realities around you. Your head is elsewhere, imagining what toy you can bring your master next so that he'll think you're really cute and adore you a little bit more than he did before. You want to snuggle up on a fleecy throw in front of an open fire, only rousing occasionally to rub yourself against their leg so that they'll pet you and tell you how special you are. You'll faithfully lie on the foot of the bed, never leaving their side till they drop off to sleep, then you'll take a wander, stretch your legs and return to them, sleeping uneasily until they wake, eager for their cuddles and kisses when you slobber all over them.'

Cameron was speechless. Had he just made that up, or was that his long-held opinion of her. And what was he thinking helping himself to the contents of her fridge. Unnerved by his speech, she grabbed herself a beer and took a swig.

'Jack Russell.'

'Huh. No, I said chocolate lab.'

'No, you. You're a Jack Russell.'

'Because?'

'Oh, I knew you'd want some sort of justification. Differential coming right up.' She took another swig and jumped up onto the counter. 'You're snappy, always biting at someone's heels. Only you don't restrict it to the mailman or intruders. Your brain runs at a thousand rpm, never resting. You're constantly edgy, like you're always looking out for a stray rabbit. In chasing the rabbit, you're so single-minded, you get your swollen head stuck in the rabbit hole. And refuse to accept help getting it unstuck. You're frantic, lively, stubborn, and ego-centric. You dominate everything and everybody. And sulk when you don't have it your way. You're playful, replacing tennis balls for banter and double-talk. You get a hold of something and shake it till it submits, or until you've had enough of the game. Need I go on?'

'No, I got the picture. Could have been worse. You could have said I was a cat. Or piranha.'

'I think we're even, don't you?' She took another gulp from the bottle. 'So, you want to talk about it?'

'It? Sex? What do you need to know?'

She tutted disapprovingly. 'No, the kiss.'

'Rodin? I knew you spent your free time going round galleries. Very you.'

'Fine. Don't worry. It's history already.'

House was distracted, having spotted something that at that moment in time took on far more significance than anything she could possibly say or do. On the fridge door was a small credit card sized object. Held in place by a oversized heart shaped magnet. Squinting hard, he saw the item it was attached to was a printed card, the outside of which was decorated with a floral border. Within the border was a poem, 'Not Waving, But Drowning.' Again, she never ceased to amaze him. Had she already had it before his quote from their drink-sodden rendezvous? Spooky if that was the case. Or had she felt the need to memorialise his words and gone out to get something tangible to remind her of it? He couldn't tell, she was a walking contradiction, that much he had already decided. Either way, he struggled with the fact that there was far more of a connection there than he had previously wanted to acknowledge.

Taking a step closer to the fridge, and in doing so, drawing nearer to her, he looked at her and in meeting her gaze, he looked again at the poem. 'When?'

'When what?'

'When did you get that?'

'Yesterday. Why?'

'I needed to know. Now I do.' His question answered, he sighed and downed the remainder of the bottle's contents and took yet another step closer to the counter. Partly in order to put the empty bottle down, partly because he wanted to know if he bridged the physical divide, he could reconcile the thoughts running through his head. Thoughts that confused and alarmed him at the same time. This isn't how it was supposed to be, he thought. Been there, done it, would've bought the t-shirt only my fingers were too burned to handle the ten dollar bill. It can only end in upset. Someone had to get hurt, badly. And it would be her. No doubt. Bad idea. So why did he edge closer still?

'I'm going to call a cab now,' he said uneasily. 'It's been a long day, and I need to rest.' She tried hard to focus on him, but his face was too close and if she leant back she would hit her head on the cupboard, moving sideways would just look odd and forwards would be inappropriate. So instead she looked down at the label she had been feverishly peeling off.

In doing so, it made House's next move a whole lot easier. In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought, as he leant forward and kissed her again. Softer this time, with less urgency. But with far more intensity than his earlier attempt. And as he savoured the moment, how he would have imagined it would feel if he had ever allowed himself the luxury, again he met no resistance. He broke the embrace less than a minute later, feeling the moment was right.

Looking at her bewildered expression, he said, 'Don't analyse it. Just accept it for what it is, nothing more, nothing less.' He stepped back, a long way back. 'I really have to go. Try and have a good weekend.'

Cameron, in shock, blinked hard. 'That's it?'

'Yes.'

She began to try and edge herself down from the counter top. 'No, stay, I can let myself out. You know how clumsy you are, probably end up face down on the tiles. I'll see you Monday. Don't be late.'

And with that he was gone. Cameron didn't know whether to rejoice or cry. Was it possible to do both at the same time? Just accept it? Accept what? That he had kissed her twice in one evening, sober. He'd made the first move, she hadn't led him on, applied any pressure. Crying had won over the urge to rejoice, and as the mascara began to sting, she decided desperate times called for desperate measures, and got down from the worktop and grabbed a half empty bottle of Chablis from the fridge and a litre tub of Haagen-Daaz from the icebox. Unaware, that a confused, restless, playful little terrier was propping up her front door, from the outside wishing he knew what the consequences of his unplanned actions would be.


	27. Peanuts

Chapter 27

Saturday morning 9.01am

As the alarm wailed senselessly, Cameron began to stir. The greyness of her surroundings suggested the alarm had gone off a little earlier than intended. She turned her head to look at the display. 9.02am. Maybe not. A second glance, in the direction of the window, blinds left open as a result of her apathetic state the previous evening, revealed a leaden sky and a heavy downpour.

She groaned. How very appropriate. The weather matched her mood perfectly. The thumping in her head a by-product of a little too much alcohol and far too much crying. And of a disturbed nights sleep. A restless slumber that been dotted with replays of the unexpected lip-locking action that had taken place, not once, but twice. Of images of House holding her. Of him in the guise of Eeyore, behind in the air, head buried deep in a rabbit hole. Of Chase's distorted head atop a totem pole. Bizarre. As the radio sprung to life, the alarm's insistent ringing having been ignored, she decided that if there was ever a reason to get up, this must surely be it. Hearing the plaintive tones of Coldplay's Fix You was more than she could deal with right now.

She sat up and smacked the button on the clock hard. Having stopped the aural misery, she smacked it again, just for the hell of it. Then smacked the eiderdown. Repeatedly. Realising this wasn't actually going to help in any way, she allowed herself a further five minutes of self-pity. Now feeling ten times worse than she had upon waking, she half-heartedly got up from the bed. Looking down, realising she was clad in a cream satin slip, only served to heighten her monumental state of despair further.

Wandering pathetically down the hallway towards the front door, she stooped to collect the morning mail. Electricity bill, phone bill, Chinese take-away menu, discounted offer on carpet cleaning. In disgust, she tossed them onto the table. Turning to head towards the bathroom, she glimpsed a scrap of paper protruding from beneath the mat. Bending down again, she picked it up. Not paper in fact, actually a napkin emblazoned with the insignia of a certain bar that she had visited less than 12 hours ago. Struggling to read the spidery writing, she carried it with her towards the table, and having located her glasses, she attempted to decipher it again.

"Again. Sorry. Twice in one lifetime. Ha! Save this note, it may be worth something when I've kicked off. Hope my favourite pooch is now fully House-broken. Me, I'm still at the chasing my tail stage. G."

Cameron sat down on the sofa, staring at the napkin. And cried a little more. Just for the sake of it. Her eyes felt like they were out on stalks already, what possible difference could another bout of self-indulgent weeping make. Damn him. What was he thinking of, toying with her like this. Didn't he realise she was a bundle of overwrought nerves already, emotional in the extreme. Of course he did. Probably fed his appetite to screw with her feelings all the more. Well, enough. It stops right now, she thought. No more.

Leaving the note on the sofa, she made her way into the bathroom. The air was still heavy with his familiar scent. Having spent far too long hanging around the perfume counter on her Saturday afternoon jaunts to the mall, she recognised it as L'Eau d'Issey. Huh. Was no sensory organ spared his insistent demands. Discarding her slip, she sought sanctuary from her dismal mindset by allowing the water to run far hotter than she normally liked, and scrubbed her skin vigorously in a futile attempt to wash his memory from her.

Having failed to wash him away, a little under twenty minutes later, she got dressed. Jeans and a pale green jumper. Not pink, not today. Perfect for her planned trip into the city, retail therapy usually hitting a ten on the feelgood factor. She knew perfectly well it wouldn't help her situation. That the next 48 hours would be dire, Monday morning even more disastrous, but she had to do something. Had to get out of these four walls. He was still here. How could the sight of two empty beer bottles, side by side on the drainer, evoke such feelings of sadness.

She gathered her jacket and purse, spent a while hunting for her keys, eventually locating them behind the kettle and made her way out into the hallway, determined that the next time she set foot in her apartment, she would have moved on.

House's house (lol) 10.45am

House sat on the piano stool, distractedly tinkling the ivories. His morning had so far been uneventful. Pointless almost. Unresolved issues would always grate on him. Better get used to the situation, he thought, this one's never going to be a closed chapter. The thought made him jab his index finger at E minor repeatedly.

He flicked through the newspaper. Ploughed his way through four very strong mugs of coffee. Smoked three cigarettes. Spent the best part of an hour staring at his cane collection in the bucket by the door. Tried to decide if he actually had a favourite, or indeed one for every occasion. Yes and no. Resolved to rectify that issue later on, buying new sticks always cheered him up.

Repeatedly opened and shut the refrigerator door, as if expecting divine intervention would have suddenly transformed the barren shelves into a calorific nirvana of bacon, eggs, pastrami and cream cakes.

Temporarily heartened by the prospect of visiting Jones's, cane-stocker extrordinaire, he snapped out of his pit of gloom for long enough to shower, dress and watch the 10 o'clock news. He cleared his messages, took out the trash, threw some bread out for the birds that frequented his back lawn, and even gathered up his laundry from its assorted dumping grounds. See, perfectly fine. All better now Greg. A minor blip in the proceedings.

Until that is, he picked up last night's shirt, and beneath the odour of stale smoke, acquired from the airless environment of the bar, he caught the faintest trace of Cameron's fragrance. Not known for being a regular at the perfume counters, he had no idea what it was, other than it was unmistakeably her. Here in his hands. And like Linus with his security blanket, he didn't want to let go. In fact he only released it from his grasp, when he amused himself by imagining Cameron as Sally, Cuddy as Lucy and Wilson as Woodstock. As it fell to the floor, he realised this was unhealthy. An attribute he took pride in wearing on his sleeve normally. But this felt like something out of his control. And that was not a feeling he wished to dwell on. Reminded him too much of the last time someone else had been calling the shots. Although his other leg wasn't in jeopardy in this situation, other bodily parts stood to take a hammering.

Another coffee, two cigarettes and three Vicodin later, he felt sufficiently pumped with artificial stimulants to face the outside world and its accompanying miserable weather. As he got into the car, and rifled through the dash for a CD to listen to, he went to shove in the parking ticket he'd found firmly wedged beneath his wiper. But as it refused to stay put, caught by the breeze from his slightly ajar window, he was forced to retrieve it from the seat, this time picking it up the other way round. In doing so, he realised it wasn't a ticket at all. Actually it was a Chinese take-away menu, with some flowery writing on it.

"Dear Frasier, please pass this on to Eddie. Re: your earlier query, I am indeed fully House-broken, and therefore unlikely to pee on the carpet. I hear you're chasing your tail a lot. Well, stop it. It'll only make you dizzy and even crankier than you already are. I am off to pamper myself at the pooch parlour, whilst you sit in your basket festering about having your nose smacked for your inability to play nicely off the leash. C." " P.S. I'm sorry too, but only because I wish we'd rubbed our wet noses a little longer."

Oh. Didn't see that one coming, he thought. Heart racing and stomach churning, he excelled himself in the closing the emotional floodgates department, and hastily forced the note into the very darkest recess of the dash. Slipping a little Travis into the multi-changer, he decided the cane shopping may have to be deferred. In times of crisis (and that was what he felt this farce was swiftly becoming), and the absence of his baba, he needed to seek out the wise words of Woodstock.


	28. Slippery When Wet

Disclaimer- House as Santa. How much better would Christmas get? Just in case, he's not mine. I have to return the Santa suit to the rental shop

Chapter 28 -Slippery when wet

Cameron's apartment 8.55pm

Surveying the pile of bags scattered around the living room floor, Cameron decided that shopping was God's wonderful antidote to depression. Yes, the Mastercard had taken a hammering, but so what. Not her normal approach to the subject of finances, but circumstance had dictated that the only way she could possibly alleviate the sheer awfulness of her day was to hit the stores like a woman on a mission. Three tops (two pink, one lilac), three pairs of shoes (one slingbacks, one sensible and one pair of boots), assorted fragranced products (oils for the burner, bath bombs, vanilla candles etc.) a set of three glittery photo albums and four lipsticks. Oh, and a stuffed rabbit for Sarah's unborn baby. Life was definitely on the up. For now. Too tired to unpack anything other than the bath bombs, she reclined on the sofa, telling herself she would get up in a minute. Run a nice bath. Soak, unwind, let the cares melt away.

She finally prised herself from the couch, started running the bath, casually tossing in a couple of cinnamon bath bombs as she did so, and then made her way into the kitchen. Switching on the oven and putting a ready meal for one on the shelf, she allowed herself to wonder what House would be doing right now. Watching TV was a safe bet. Or listening to his music, scotch in hand. Snark on a weekend mini-break. Dinner taken care of, she returned to the bathroom, taking pleasure in the spicy aroma rising from the fizzing water. As she turned off the taps, and slid into the heavenly froth, she laid back, closed her eyes, and wished her life was simpler. Straightforward, like when she had first joined the department. Or when she was fourteen and her primary concern in life was which colour eyeshadow to put on for the high school disco.

Having dozed off, enveloped in warmth and bubbles, she was rudely awakened by the pipping of the oven timer, and a light tapping noise coming from her front door. Hurriedly clambering out of the tub, dripping wet hair trailing on her towelling robe, she faltered, unsure of which sound required her attention first. Opting for the kitchen, the insistent beeping at odds with her newly relaxed mood, she cancelled the timer before padding across the cream carpet towards the door, leaving a trail of soggy footprints in her wake.

As she opened the door, she was surprised to see Clarkson before her. Soaked to the skin. A puddle forming at his feet on the hall tiles. 'Come in,' she said, caught off guard, and too busy ensuring her robe was not compromising her modesty to utter anything more interesting.

He obliged, and gratefully relieved himself of his jacket, which Cameron took from him, keeping it at arms length before hanging it up in the warm boiler cupboard.

'Hope you don't mind me calling so late. I was over the other side of town, just met up with some fellow ex-pats and thought I'd look in on you, make sure you were ok. You've been a little reserved towards me ever since our date, and I wanted to make sure everything was all right.'

Still assessing just how ridiculously wet through he was, she smiled faintly. 'Having an open topped car has its downside, clearly.'

'Well, it wasn't raining when I left the bar, but about a block from here, the heavens opened and I got caught short.'

'Hold on.' She scurried away, leaving him there in his sodden state, before returning a minute later with a pink fluffy robe. 'Here, not your colour but will serve the purpose. Bathroom's the first on the left.'

'Oh no, I don't want to put you out, just a towel will be fine,' he said, surprised at her forwardness.

'Don't be silly, it's no bother. If you throw your wet clothes out, I'll air them, they'll be dry in twenty minutes. I'll go make you a hot drink.'

Wandering off, leaving him alone, he decided that her idea made perfect sense, and robe in hand, made his way into the bathroom. Cameron flicked the switch on the kettle, salvaged a slightly charred lasagne from the oven, burning her finger on the door in the process, and wondered what she had done in a past life to deserve such an onslaught of emotional crises. Why now? What had made him start analysing her? Yes, she'd been reserved towards him, but that wasn't his fault. He hadn't done anything wrong. Other than not being the object of her affection. Timing was lousy, he would have been her ideal if only she'd met him a couple of years ago. The sort of admirer she had spent countless nights wishing would sweep her off her pumps.

But so much had changed. Even though House (up until last night) had shown no clue that he had anything other than a professional interest in her, and perhaps, in fact, almost certainly, would never allow himself to be that exposed again, she couldn't shake him. He had raised the bar. Made her re-evaluate what she wanted and needed from a potential partner. She needed to feel the spark. And with House it was like Bonfire Night every time she stood within twenty yards of him. Tony just didn't cut it. He was too English. She used to think watching countless Richard Curtis films whilst curled up on the sofa, that it would be cute to have a Hugh Grant type holding open doors, grabbing her hand in public and taking her to the theatre. But having been lured into the convoluted web that was House's allure, she knew she needed to feel passion. A sense of danger. Alive. And for all his charm and thoughtfulness, that was never going to be Tony's strongest suit.

Making her way into the lounge with his tea, having abandoned the overcooked lasagne and settling for a milky coffee instead, she stopped to collect his wet clothes, placed his mug on the table, and made her way back to the boiler cupboard. She carefully draped the expensive garments over the airer, before returning to the lounge, to find him standing reticently by the couch.

Sitting down on the sofa, she patted the seat alongside her, inviting him to join her. She leant forward to pick up both their drinks and passed him his tea, hoping that for as long as he was occupied doing something, he wouldn't press her about her feelings. And he didn't. They talked about her day at the mall and his evening at the bar. Anglo-American relations successfully restored, they relaxed sufficiently to forget that his clothes would probably be drier than House's wit by now, and enjoyed the second half of Chicago which was showing on TV. He brought a smile to her face when he revealed that he thought Catherine Zeta Jones had a dark side which really freaked him out, she told him of her former longing to be swept off her feet by Richard Gere in a naval uniform. The cosy scenario was rudely interrupted by a loud rapping noise. Clarkson jerked his head round, unfamiliar with his surroundings. Cameron however, knew the sound all too well.

Deliberating briefly as to the wisdom of her opening the door as opposed to pretending to be out, even though her constant thorn in the side would have seen the lights were on, Cameron opted for the lesser of two evils and made her way to the door, her checking the callers identity through the spy-hole more out of habit than necessity. Who else had such priceless timing and would thump the door in such an obtuse manner.


	29. Barbie With Balls

Disclaimer- see previous chapter

Chapter 29 Barbie with balls

'House.' She opened the door only slightly, her body blocking his line of vision.

'Dr. Cameron.' He squinted, trying desperately to see past her.

'My fridge is bare, go find a late night liquor store.'

'Nope. Can't do that. No money on me. Besides, I don't want a beer. Or even a whisky.'

'Little late for Lent aren't you? By about three months or so.'

'Huh. So you gonna invite me in, or do I have to stand here and give the neighbours something to talk about. Unless of course they're used to you having gentlemen callers late at night.'

'No.'

'No what?'

'No, I'm not going to invite you in.'

'Because..?'

'Because I am about to go to bed.' She looked downwards at her robe, expecting House to buy her excuse given her current attire.

'With wet hair? Didn't your mother tell you it's a sure fire way to pick up a chill.' He continued to crane his neck, Cameron closing the door slightly as he did so.

'Thanks for the tip. Goodnight House.'

Preventing the door being firmly shut in his face, he nudged it with his cane. Cameron insistently pushed back against it. House jabbed it again, a little harder. Just in time to catch a glimpse of Clarkson getting up off the sofa. In a pink robe? The robe part was enough to make House do a double take, but pink? Realising he had seen far more than she would have wished for, Cameron surrendered to his persistent abuse of her door.

'Fine. Clearly you need to come in.' She opened the door fully and waved her arm, signalling him to enter.

'Well, before I just wanted to. Now, I absolutely need to. First we discover Chase leads a double life as a gimp and now Clarkson is revealing his liking for cross-dressing. What kind of monsters have I created in my lab?'

He entered the living room, enjoying the fact that Clarkson didn't know where to look and that Cameron's blood was at boiling point. Taking in the vision that was a six foot tall, 180 pound man with a chiselled jaw, clad only in a rose pink towelling robe, hairy calves and forearms on display. 'Barbie with balls. Nice.'

Clarkson headed in the general direction his clothing had last been spotted.

'House, why are you here?' Cameron asked, her annoyance highly evident.

'I'd say it's a good job I came when I did. Save you from being defiled by a giant blob of cotton candy. I only got to slide off the nightdress, what's so special about Lord Snooty that he gets to play dress-up? '

'He got wet. He was soaked to the skin. I was being nice.'

'And he didn't have any towels at his place? Wait a minute, you're all wet too. You had a foam party? Please tell me it was that. Let me die with a smile on my face.'

'He got caught in the rain.'

'Shame. What is it with your need to take in waifs and strays? You should consider opening a sanctuary for all of life's victims.'

'I'll bear it in mind. You want to reserve your bunk in advance?'

Clarkson reappeared, crumpled but dry, and without so much as a trace of pink in sight. As he slipped his jacket on and headed towards House and Cameron, House felt the need to continue with his vitriol. 'Mr. Bubbalicious? You leaving so soon? I didn't mean to interrupt the pyjama party. Have I missed Truth or Dare? Spin the Bottle? Strip Twister?'

'Dr. House, I was just checking up on Allison, making sure she was ok.'

'You know the Red Cross needs people like you two. I hear Do-Gooders Anonymous needs a new CEO. Hey, don't let me stop you, I hear the rainforest and ozone layer is losing the battle. Go help Sting. Word of advice, don't turn up offering assistance dressed as a blancmange.'

Clarkson reached out and rubbed Cameron's shoulder tenderly. 'Allison, thanks again. I'll see you Monday. If you need anything before then, you have my number. Dr. House.' He nodded a goodbye to his boss.

House ignored his gesture, his natural rudeness only made worse by the gradual realisation that his territory had potentially been marked by a foreign predator. He hadn't expected Cameron to don a chastity belt on the basis of a couple of stolen kisses and a wealth of unspoken sexual tension, but he also hadn't anticipated the speed at which his fumbled advances would be replaced. Especially by Bertie Wooster. In girl's clothing.

Watching him walk down the hallway, Cameron felt a mixture of embarrassment on Clarkson's behalf, and a seething rage at House's audacity. As House closed the door, Cameron spun to face him angrily.

'Why are you here? Go annoy somebody else.'

'Can't. No-one wants to play. Wilson's got dragged into a family pow-wow, Kevin from book-keeping is alphabetising his porn collection...'

'His name's Carl.'

'Same difference. I could think of no-one I would rather pester than you, Dr. Cameron.'

'Well, I am not in the mood for banter tonight. I am going to bed.'

'What and leave me here? Alone in your apartment with only my deviant mind and pastel soft furnishings for company?'

'No, this is where you'd take a hint and leave.'

House, clearly not picking up on her overt signals, walked straight past her and sat down on the sofa. Cameron hadn't expected that. Normally, she would have been clapping her hands with glee at his unexpected appearance and apparent reluctance to leave. But somehow the mood wasn't right. The banter held no appeal. Leaving him in the living room, she wandered into the bathroom, desperately needing to find a space that couldn't be invaded.


	30. Pin Head

Disclaimer- Not mine. None of them. Criminal really. I would take such good care of them, some more than others admittedly, and one in particular.

A/N- Again, thanks to all those that read and review, and also to those that just read. This chapter is a little short, but sadly my holiday is over, and work has reared its ugly head again. Tina

Chapter 30 – Pin Head

Cameron's apartment 10.04pm

Having spent the best part of fifteen minutes in the bathroom, and with no escape route, Cameron decided the sensible thing to do would be to go face him. Her hair had dried, she had put on her PJs and her temper had abated. Leaving the steamy confines behind, she headed into the living room to find it surprisingly empty. On checking the kitchen, and knowing full well that even House wouldn't be audacious enough to have ventured into the bedroom uninvited, she sighed heavily. Round and round like hamsters on a wheel she thought. He hadn't even left a note. Why had he gone? Without telling her? Ok, she hadn't exactly been Miss Congeniality towards him, but he had forced her hand. She hated surprises, he knew that. It interfered with her love of order and routine. Spontaneity was not her bag.

Heading back into the kitchen and making an oversized mug of milky hot chocolate, she decided that for the remainder of the night she would free her mind of him. And Clarkson, albeit that he wasn't exactly the cause of any significant amount of angst. Relaxing on her bed, snuggled between a cluster of baby blue astrakhan cushions whilst clutching the hot froth filled mug to her chest, she turned the radio-alarm on and allowed her mind to unravel to the sounds of Damien Rice.

Monday morning 9.25am House's office

'I'm going to be an uncle.'

House looked up. Wilson was grinning stupidly, his face a human representation of the proverbial all-American apple pie. Way too much oestrogen in his system, House thought. Should get it checked out.

'Ok.'

Wilson stood, hands on hips, lab coat pulled back as a result. 'I'll try again. I'm going to be an uncle.'

House gave his best attempt at a disinterested look, before returning his full attention to his latest executive toy. Forming a fist and pushing it into the pin formation, before tipping it back to reveal the perfect copy it had made of his hand, he smiled to himself. How great is that, he thought to himself.

Wilson glared at him. 'This is the part where you say congratulations. Or when's it due. Or tell me more. You know, textbook responses but kind of important all the same.'

'Congratulations. When's it due. Tell me more. There, that better?'

'Surprisingly, no. Oh, I see forty-eight hours away from this place has only served to magnify your delightfully sunny disposition tenfold. What's the matter? Gameboy got a flat battery? General Hospital been cancelled due to Dutch-Elm disease striking the cast?'

House, face pushed firmly into the pin-toy, gestured with his hand for Wilson to leave. Wilson ignored it and took a seat. Aware that his friend had not complied, House carefully removed the pin-box from his face, and placed it gently down on the desk, as Wilson stared disbelievingly at the fact that even in pin form, House could still look sarcastic.

Wilson tried again. 'Sarah is pregnant.'

'Whoa there. Not guilty. I haven't laid a hand on her. Put your shotgun away Pops.'

'You ass! I know it's not yours, by virtue of the fact that she appears to be pleased at the news. And also because apart from the ex-husband, she normally has exemplary taste in men.'

'Nice. Go tell Cameron. You'll have more luck on the beaming with joy front there. She loves all that kind of stuff. Probably have organised the baby shower before you have time to take a pee.'

Wilson scratched the back of his neck in a worrying fashion. 'Ok. You want to talk about it? I'm sensing that all that high school necking on my back seat didn't exactly get you the pay off you were hoping for.'

House frowned and began throwing his tennis ball from hand to hand. 'Nothing to talk about. Now, seriously, congratulations blah blah blah, but you really should go justify that huge pay cheque you collect on a monthly basis. Oncology is your specialty, not psychology.'

'Fine. It's only a matter of time before you come calling. Why didn't you tell me your problems on Saturday afternoon instead of gate-crashing my barbecue and blaming it on your frustration at finding the cane store had closed down. You're a prize jerk at times.'

'Whatever. Now go. Seriously, I can't be saved. I'm a basket case. My emotional shortcomings are clearly far more worrying than those of someone who's on marriage number three and rather than tell his wife that he prefers to have his crusts cut off his sandwiches, spends half his lunch break peeling them off.'

Wilson got up from the chair, already having had his boundless energy sucked out of him in its entirety. 'Like I said, my door's open.'

'Well, close it. You'll get a draught.'

House watched Wilson leave, shoulders drooping in the process, and ever so slightly troubled by that fact, he cast his gaze on the outer office instead. Clarkson, who would forever remain a vision in pink in his mind, was leaning over the desk talking to Cameron, Foreman was engrossed in reading the paper and Chase was trying to catch peanuts in his mouth, failing miserably it would appear, as there seemed to be quite a collection on the floor around him.

Collecting the notes on the Fry case from his in-tray, House gradually pushed himself up from his chair. And decided the only thing that could possibly lighten his mood today, other than Alicia Silverstone paying him a visit to show him just how clueless she actually wasn't, was to go next door and turn the snark thermostat up to it's highest notch.


	31. Below The Belt

Disclaimer- Thank you Santa, I promise to give them back before Twelfth Night

Chapter 31- Below The Belt

Outer Office 9.40am

'People. It's Monday. We meet again. Good weekend everybody?'

House strode (as best he could with only one fully-functioning leg) towards the coffee machine, avoiding eye contact with the group in the process.

'Yeah, very.' Foreman's was the sole response.

'Pleased to hear it.' He looked around at his team. 'Your lack of a response Dr. Chase suggests your weekend was a little too good. Glad you managed to tear your shackles off and escape from Miss Whiplash and her Dungeon of Doom. Dr. Clarkson, you and Ken still on a break? Or did you make up and take Skipper to the park?'

Turning his attention to Cameron, having suitably annoyed her slumber party pal, he took a sip of coffee. 'Dr. Cameron, your presence suggests you ran out of Sarah McLachlan CDs to play and your down-turned mouth tells me you just heard the news that Nick and Jessica didn't make it. Life's a btch ain't it.'

He moved toward the white board and placed his mug down on the table in front of her, replacing one orally based emotional crutch for another in the shape of a pill bottle. As he dry-swallowed two pills, he felt them lodge firmly in his throat, causing him to splutter violently.

Cameron, continuing with her eternal pursuit of canonisation, looked concerned and moved forward in her chair. House, regained his composure, eyes watering and with a peculiar purple tinge slowly rising up from his neck, and took a large gulp of coffee to wash down the source of his aggravation.

'Why do you insist on taking those tablets without water?' Cameron asked, annoyed at the sheer stupidity of the man stood before her.

House, having fully recovered, but still looking as though he had been strangled by his own snark, replied, 'Because unlike you Dr. Cameron, I don't usually have a problem swallowing.'

Cameron winced, Foreman glared, Clarkson shot a surprised glance at her, wondering what exactly had taken place after he'd left her apartment and Chase spat a mouthful of chewed up peanuts across the desk from laughing so hard.

'Anyway, enough about Cameron's sexual proclivities, I'm sure they're fairly well documented. What's the latest on Mr. Fry, Foreman?'

Foreman, still outraged at House's remark toward Cameron, replied, 'No change. Just waiting on a fresh set of bloods to come back from the lab. He had a comfortable night and seems slightly improved this morning.'

'You got it covered. Excellent! No need for me to dirty my hands with the nasty business of work this morning then. So, whilst you and Cameron go check the test results, and Tony raids the linen cupboards to stock up on towels, me and young Robert here can amuse ourselves by spelling out rude words on the calculator.'

Chase perked up immediately and pulled a calculator from his bag, quickly keying in 5318008, turning it upside down and laughing out loud at the word it formed. 'Look,' he squealed, holding the calculator up for House to see. 'Boobies. Mad!'

'Oh we're going to have so much fun. Go.' He gestured at the others to leave. 'For every second you remain, Chase's brain cells continue to deplete at a rate of knots. And I so need him to come up with another gem like the one he just delivered.'

The ducklings stood up, Cameron shooting a disdainful look at House as she did so, House merely meeting it with a look of contrived innocence. As Tony left and Foreman stood holding the door for Allison, and with Chase furiously punching in random number combinations, House looked at Cameron.

'Sorry about the swallowing comment. Below the belt. I have no idea what your position is on the matter.' He turned his eyes to Foreman. 'Couldn't ask her, she wasn't able to talk at the time. Mouth being full and all.'

Foreman puffed his chest out, intent to defend his friend's honour. House, seeing he had got a reaction from the pair of them, as Cameron reddened and adopted her defensive hands on hips stance, smiled and continued drinking the now tepid coffee. 'Still here? What? Dr. Foreman, save your righteous indignation for those who'll appreciate it. It's misplaced anyway. Do you see Princess Pissy here denying my allegations?'

Foreman, still offended, and not articulate enough to respond with anything other than a stream of abuse, which wouldn't exactly do his career any favours, shook his head disgustedly, and put his hand on Cameron's back in order to lead her out of the room.

House smiled to himself, delighted that he had annoyed three quarters of the team, and in the case of Chase, had merely brought the idiot savant qualities House knew had always been latent within him, to the fore.

As Foreman and Cameron left the room, and Chase moved closer to the window so that his solar-powered toy wouldn't fail him when he struck gold in the numerical smuttiness department, House decided that he was cured. Snark returned, emotional nonsense all behind him now. Ha! Worried me there for a while Greggy-boy, thought you'd gone soft. Hoorah. Merely an air bubble in the syringe. No lasting damage done.

He cheerfully poured himself another mugful of full strength Colombian, and joined Chase by the window, eager to satisfy the juvenile component of his brain.


End file.
